The Visitor II
by Speciosus Nihilum
Summary: Scarlett Cross, your average teenager, is somehow trapped into the fictional world of Hellsing. With a new face and body, how will she ever adjust?
1. The New Cross

_A/N: So, here we go. This is the sequel to my previous fanfiction, The Visitor. You might want to read The Visitor just to be safe, and so you know what is going on. Other than that, well, like I said before, this one is going to be a lot more serious than the previous and has a lot more to do with Hellsing. Enjoy._

_Disclaimer: Well, since I don't feel like rambling, I'll say it simply... I don't own and didn't create Hellsing._

**I wasn't sure exactly how to handle a meeting with Integra,** seeing as I knew she was of great importance, power, and beauty (all things which I felt I lacked). As soon as Walter left my room, I let out a heavy sigh of anxiety and dropped my fork. I wasn't hungry at all. In fact, my appetite had seemingly disappeared ever since I had peered into the mirror moments before.

Seeing that voluptuous woman before me, inhabiting my reflection, owning my voice and soul, made me go weak inside. I don't know if it was being thrown into some world of which I was ultimately oblivious to living in, which scared me out of sense, that brought such a feeling to the surface. I'm sure it had something to do with it, but I don't think that's the sole source.

As if that wasn't enough, I still had some mulling over to do as to how I had come to be in this fictional world that I admired from the outside. Such a thing was purely a mystery, and I could think of not a single logical explanation.

However, I did realize that within this world's walls, I felt wary and an uneasiness of existence, as if one wrong step in my shining leather boots would send me whirling faster toward doom than I could comprehend. I could not shake myself of such apprehension, no matter how many deep breathes I inhaled or how many falsely optimistic thoughts I conjured. Nothing I did was powerful enough to make me feel in my place, or at home.

Then again, I suppose such a feeling is appropriate, for I most certainly wasn't home. No way in the world, either on the earth I once knew, or the one I inhabited at that moment, was I in any position to let myself feel relaxed. I had watched _Hellsing _and read over its manga too many times to even consider moving about languorously.

So after finishing off about a third of the enormous full English breakfast that had been provided to me, which made me wince each time I swallowed, I promptly reported back to my connected bathroom. I stared hard at the mirror, scanning over each facet of my new identity. I had kept my name, but certainly not my body, and I wanted to know everything about the one I know owned.

I gave up quickly on just gazing, seeing as I had done before previously, and decided that the best way to get to know my new self, uncensored and personal, was to do one thing. That thing was to take a shower, which I felt I probably needed after all of the sweating I did over all those changes.

I stripped down until I was what my friend Kayla had once referred to as _au naturel_, which I saw as simply a different way of saying bareassed. It may seem a bit awkward, but I couldn't help but gape at how flawless my body was, even without clothing. Any hair I had that wasn't on my head or eyebrows was so fine that it was virtually invisible, and there was nothing unsightly about me. I nearly dazed out and would've forgotten to take my shower, and probably missed my meeting with Integra, if I hadn't heard that nagging little voice at the back of my mind. You might call it a conscience, but since I hadn't done anything wrong, I think of it more as my common-sense reminder.

The hot water was soothing in all places but my neck. The fact that this bite made it difficult to speak, look in different directions, and bathe properly most likely sparked a hint of dislike toward vampires, and whomever did that to me. It was only a slight disablement, but it still irked me. I had to suffer because some drooling, uncouth beast had sunk its teeth into me in a moment of dehydration. I obviously didn't help much, either, or I would've been dead from lack of blood.

_When I find who did this to me, I'm definitely going to give him—or her—a piece of my mind_, I thought acidly as I rinsed the lather from my hair. The water speckled my face with tiny droplets and burnt my sore, although I was able to withstand the smarting sensation until I was done ridding of the shampoo.

I wrapped a spotless white towel around my body and stepped out of the shower to find an uncanny dark spot at the corner of the bathroom. The light wasn't extremely bright, but it wasn't dull either, and I was sure that there weren't any shadows in the bathroom's corners when I had walked into the bathroom before.

_How strange_, I thought as I walked over to the darkened area. I reached out a hand to touch the wall, and found my arm disappeared into the absence of light. The blackness constricted and curled around my arm in jagged, rough strides, and the more I tried to pull away, the more the blackness climbed. It was half-way to my neck when I succeeded in recoiling, which left me flat on my bum on the tiled flooring.

The towel began to slip down as I stood up while using the sink for support. Luckily, I caught its sliding just in time and was able to hold it in place with one hand. My breath came in short gasps as I tried retreating back into my bedroom, yet before I could, a voice caught my ear and stopped me dead in my path.

_I definitely like the new you better, Scarlett,_ the voice resonated in all its deep and raspy essence. _Still easy to scare, but a lot more to look at._

I recognized the speaker almost immediately. It was Alucard.


	2. Peeping Tom

**My tongue was in knots as I felt his eyes upon my body.** It occurred to me that he could've been lurking in the corner of the bathroom the whole time, while I was off in my own little world, freely exhibiting my body for his personal viewing. He could've watched me undress, and he could've spied while I peered down at myself in different views and poses.

Alucard might have seen every part of my body that was to hide, and I was lacking just enough sense to not have noticed him.

So, in my reckless essence, I stepped back into the bathroom and glared coldly at the dark spot at my right. I aligned my body so that I was what I considered to be "face-to-face" with the curious-eyed vampire, and I felt my eye upper lip twitch slightly as I practically growled, "How much did you see?"

He gracefully glided out from the shadows that he cast, that legendary smirk stretched across his lips. "That all depends. How much do you want me to remember?"

_Ugh, what a pervert_, I thought in mild irritation, rolling my eyes out of habit. "I'd rather you remembered only what you've seen with my clothes on."

"Why is that, Miss Cross?" he softly chuckled, stalking closer to me. For each step I took back, he took double, and before I knew it, my back was to the floral wallpaper. He bent down a bit so that our faces were close. "Are you ashamed of what has become of you?"

_Hell no!_ I thought, but then I remembered that he was probably sorting through my thoughts as soon as I submitted one to be read in secrecy.

"I've always been a bit on the modest side," I affixed to my thoughts, lowering my eyes with great difficulty from his burning embers of iris. They were so hypnotic... in their own deathly enchanting way. I found that as soon as I pulled away, only to look at the buttons on his suit blankly, that there was something deep within me that wanted me to look again.

His laugh vibrated down my spine, giving me goose bumps. We must've been standing very close, for even his softly spoken words reverberated within my bones. "What I saw was definitely not modest."

I felt a mental growl coming on, and I immediately looked back up into his eyes in rage to find his expression was more dazed than I expected. They were almost sleepy, yet I found that aspect about them was what made them so appealing. I also knew what to relate to their sheen: lust.

Instead of a grumble of annoyance, what I emitted was a soft sigh of hopelessness. I should've known that this would happen. Like so many before me have stated, most anything is sexual with a vampire, and if Alucard saw as much of me as he gloated he did, he was probably drooling on the inside. Although I must say, I found it a bit flattering. After all, the old Scarlett was a chubby girl with big breasts, and she never once had a guy pin her to a wall.

**This Scarlett, though, I could get used to.**

"So, are you admitting to have seen me without my towel?" I got back on track of our encounter's purpose. However, as soon as I suggested such a thing, I felt Alucard's hand at my thigh. I was about to slap him in revulsion when I felt him tug at the towel, and in one small pull, it started to release around my breasts.

"I'm not sure... maybe I should take another look, for the sake of memory," he whispered with a smile, but I pushed at his chest with whatever might I had in effort to get him away from me. I knew I wasn't strong enough to really do so, but I felt it was worth a try, and to my surprise, he let go and backed away.

Nonetheless, his wide, toothy smirk still remained. "I have to get dressed now. The last thing I need is to make Sir Integra wait on my first day here," I somberly stated and walked around Alucard to the bathroom's threshold. I was halfway to my walk-in closet when I heard the hard steps of riding boots behind me, matching my footsteps.

"Is there a particular reason as to why you're following me?" I questioned without turning around while I parted the doors to reveal my variety of outfits. When he didn't answer, I turned around to find no one was in the room. But when I swivelled back to my wardrobe, there he was, holding out a revealing red dress.

The dress's front had an intricate Victorian cross stitch, and the neckline was squared off but low cut. It was strapless and showy, with the skirt fabric being about knee-length and soft as silk. I also noticed that the top was built like a more bearable version of a corset, as the fabric wasn't as tough and constricting. All the same, I also knew just by looking at it that my breasts would be pushed up for maximum cleavage.

"Why don't you wear this today?"he smirked, and I could tell by the gleam in his eye that he was probably fantasizing about me in it already.

"How will I ever train in that dress?" I queried curiously while standing akimbo. "I don't need that many soldiers trying to make friends with me."

"Oh, but I meant you should wear it for me."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the dress to put it back on the hanger. "What are you doing awake in the morning, anyway?"


	3. Surprise, Surprise

**After kicking Alucard out of my room,** I finally decided on an outfit less formal than the one I was wearing when I awoke. It consisted of a grey-and-black turtleneck of soft material and a black vest layered over top, complete with the _Order of Protestant Kings _insignia. I also donned a black miniskirt with buckles, dark grey stockings, traditional white gloves, and my leather boots, along with a black flat-topped bucket hat that stopped just above my eyes.

I even decided to wear this necklace strung with large, round black beads and a big black cross. After all, I felt it matched the outfit perfectly, and went accordingly with the organization of which I was now under employment.

However, I must say my overall look was gloomy. All I wore were the colorless hues of black and grey, and even my eyes, with thick black eyeliner and mascara, seemed dismal. If it had not been for the deep mahogany red shade of my hair, and the dark brown of my iris, I would have cast a very cheerless character indeed.

It must have been about twenty minutes before ten-fifteen, the scheduled time I had with Sir Integra, when I was finally prepared. I walked halfway down the hall outside my room to the right when I met Walter, who instructed me kindly that Integra's office was in the other direction. He escorted me to her office from there, and when we arrived at the front of the large, double-door office, I felt my heart sink to my stomach.

I had spent all morning telling myself not to worry. To act natural, and coming off as some uptight, apprehensive, nervous girl would only help to diminish whatever reputation I already owned. Yet as I stood before the doors that led to my fate, or whatever you may call it, my hands and feet went numb from fear.

How was I ever to face a woman of such intelligence, beauty, prestige, and power? How was I to act normally in the presence of such grandeur?

"Miss Cross?" I heard Walter asking in a worrisome tone from beside me. "Is something the matter? You don't look to be in a good way."

"Oh, no, it's nothing. I'm just a bit nervous, is all," I forced the most genuine smile I could at that time of the day, seeing as my insides were twitching simultaneously out of both self-doubt and anxiety. Walter didn't seem to believe my grin, but he did assure me to calm down and that there was nothing to worry, which helped me feel slightly better.

Then, when Walter parted the doors, stepped in momentarily, and then came back out with a genial look about him, it was as if my fear dissipated briefly. If he had kept smiling and not told me that Sir Integra was to see me at that time, the fear probably would've never returned.

I walked in to find the woman seated behind her large wooden desk of deep, dark color. She reclined with such repose and relaxation that I felt my insides turn green for a moment, yet when I remembered the stress she was put under on a daily basis, I felt no longer of jealousy. I knew I was not born nor suited for a life demanding of such a great amount, so I felt that the rank I held as a private curved to my personality more.

It would be easier for me to handle a soldier's agenda, tension, and lifestyle for as long as I needed, than to be permanently at the head seat of an organization. Somehow, I have never imagined me to be handing out orders; instead, it seems I would always fain follow instructions.

Integra's lazy movement from her relaxed position to one of slightly more authority is what woke me from my brief daydreams. She eased her elbows onto her desk and rested her chin upon her laced fingers while she looked up at me with mild, if no, interest. Her large, owl-lense glasses shone brightly in the soft sunlight seeping in through the windows behind her desk, and her face was of solemn expression. The nearly white-blonde hair hung in soft, elegant tresses around her shoulders, which contrasted against the formal, almost manly light tan suit she wore.

Just the weight of her eyes upon me was enough to send me reeling in desperation.

"Miss Scarlett V. Cross, I presume?" Integra called me by my full name, only abbreviating my middle name from Vera to V., which made it sound a bit more professional. I nodded my head timidly in response, to which Integra then added, "Come closer, if you will."

I instantly followed the order, wondering if Integra could hear the loud, resonating pulsation of my excessively energetic heartbeat. However, once reading _The Tell-Tale Heart _by Poe, I knew that the pulse is only heard by the bearer of the heart . . . and vampires. So I tried to drown out the pounding in my ears by listening intently to what Integra had to say.

"Are you aware that you are employed here under my supervision, and are bound to my orders as the head of the Hellsing organization?" she asked me in a tone deep with authority and seriousness. I assented once again, and she continued, "Under those circumstances, you also understand that treason is taken with the utmost of severity and may result in your ultimate demise at the hands of my servant, if I decide you are so deserving."

I gulped in fear of the mere thought of having Alucard finish me off, and for the third time, nodded my head to signify I comprehended her rules and reasons. I saw a slight smirk creep across her full lips, and she chuckled most gently, "Alucard informed me that you can be quite talkative. I'm beginning to ponder his reports of such; you can speak, can't you?"

"Yes, Sir," I sighed and felt my cheeks burn bright to match the color of my name, and I subconsciously wrung my hands behind my back. I was doing horribly . . . I just knew it.

"Well, I'll have you know there's no reason to be so nervous in front of me, Scarlett Cross. You are right to be fearful and a tad apprehensive, but I'm not going to harm you," she smiled. Then, her grin was quickly wiped from her face as she sighed, "You must only worry such things of whom you've previously met. I'm afraid he hasn't the least bit of self-control around women."

I already was quite aware of that information, but I didn't think telling Sir Integra was necessary, or relevant at the least, so I simply replied, "Yes Sir."

Integra looked perplexed, which surprised me greatly, as I thought I had been very straightforward and clear with my responses thus far. "Are you ill? Your voice is abnormally raspy."

"No, Sir, I'm doing quite well," I answered a bit skeptically, listening to my own voice carefully as I spoke. It was then when it hit me once more, and the pain at the region beneath my chin began stinging insanely as it had before. For some odd reason, I had forgotten about the bite I obtained . . . it wasn't until Integra reminded me that the sore began smarting again.

"Actually, Sir," I spoke with a voice barely audible in an effort to ease my vocal chords, "I've got this odd sore at my neck . . . it hurt a bit this morning."

That made Integra's eyes light up like pale blue flames from behind her glasses. Suddenly, tension began to thicken in the air, and when she motioned for me to reveal to her the wound I hid behind my turtleneck, and I heard the sharp inhale of air, I knew our meeting had definitely found its slippery way down the tubes in a matter of seconds.

"Where did you acquire this bite?" she asked me acerbically, which sent unpleasant chills down my spine in a heightened feeling of discomfort. If I had learned anything while living on the earth I knew and from viewing _Hellsing_, it was that I cracked easily under interrogation, and that Integra is deadly when she is set off.

"I don't know, Sir, or I honestly would tell you," I heard my voice crack involuntarily as I felt my hands and feet go numb.

Without speaking another word to me, Integra's brows bent to a pinch at her nose, and her mild frown twisted into a contemptuous grimace. Her scream echoed violently within the vastness of the room, and my bones once again rattled in the power behind a voice. I felt like melting down into the glazed wood paneling of the floor as her yells rang loudly throughout my entire being and shook my core.

**"ALUCARD!"**

At once, his tall, fluent, and dangerously seductive essence appeared in the room at the far corner, to the right of the double doors. As he had in my bathroom, Alucard swaggered in refined ease over to Integra and me, with a slight smirk perched upon his lips.

"Yes, Master?" he cooed in his perpetually flirtatious manner, slinking ever-so close to Integra's desk with abundant grace.

"You stated in your report that each of the girls brought to me were in top condition," Integra began, not amused in the least by Alucard's sex-obsessed nature. "However, I have now been informed that this girl is not at all what I would consider to be in prime health."

I felt his blistering, acid-red eyes upon my skin, and I dared not look up and meet such irises, for I knew all too well I would most likely be put under a trance. Nonetheless, I could see from the corner of my eye that his smirk was still soft in a sensual manner. "I do not see what is wrong, _Miss Hellsing_. Last I checked, Cross is as perfect as any human can be."

I knew he was hinting at what happened earlier in the bathroom, and even as I remembered the events, my cheeks blazed cherry-red with hot embarrassment. The deepened laughter told me that he had saw the excess color as well.

"Is that so, Servant? Then how do you explain this as 'perfect'?" Integra fumed, looking to me with dire eyes and bit of a snarl. Without her even voicing the order, I reluctantly pulled down the collar from my shirt to uncover the pit of the moment's intensity: a bite, one can only assume, belonging to a vampire.

I arched my neck for viewing as I heard Alucard's blunt footsteps advance slowly in my direction. He looked superficially at the wound, then ducked down closer to me as I felt the heat he seemed to radiate scathe my skin. I tried avoiding his glance, yet I fell victim as he peered into my eyes with a look of slight shock and confusion while backing away. I might be wrong, but he seemed to be a bit disappointed.

"I don't know where that bite came from, Master," he whispered in his rough, metallic voice, although the words were anything but faint. The vibrations traveled down my spine once more, and I let go of the collar knowing that he had seen enough. "I did not notice it before."

"If you didn't bite her, who did?" Integra's hollow voice queried him distrustfully. Even though I knew she felt he was lying, my own feelings were different. I didn't think Alucard was responsible; there was something in his eyes and the tone of his voice that emanated innocence. I knew vampires were not to be trusted, but I still felt my instincts were as accurate as any.

"I don't know," Alucard replied, turning his eyes to my staring own. As he spoke his next words, he kept his eyes at mine, and it was as if I was the one who hypnotizes him. "I can assure you, however, that it was not my doing."

Integra's anxious sigh broke me from Alucard's enchanted gaze, and she seated herself dismally behind her desk, head in hands. She took a short moment to breathe peace into her mind, and then looked up again at Alucard and me with a tired, hopeless expression. Integra was a strong woman for holding her ground so well and resisting a breakdown; I knew that much. However, I also knew that she was human, and that we all succumb to stress at one point.

"Well, we will have to solve this later, around nightfall," she exhaled in apathy, running her gloved fingers through her long, stringy, blonde hair. "Get some rest, Alucard, for we have a busy night ahead."

He disappeared at once.

Taking up a cigar from the box at her desk, and striking the end ablaze with a black lighter, Integra turned her cerulean gems of eyes to mine. Once she placed down the lighter, she held the cigar to her mouth and with her free hand, motioned. "Go train now with the rest, Scarlett. You're dismissed."


	4. Warehouse Hell

**Seeing as my actual training wasn't that eventful or much worth remembering,** I will jump to that night, when I was sent to Integra's office once more. Even though it was my first night as a Hellsing soldier, Sir Integra insisted that I accompanied Alucard on a mission to find the owner of teeth that had scarred me. She had gotten a lead that there was an old, abandoned warehouse in the borough of Slough, in Berkshire, that has been reportedly disturbed by hellish beings. Of these beings, most eye witnesses described them to be none other than vampires.

Integra wasn't sure in any way that one of those vampires was responsible for damaging me, but still, she thought it couldn't hurt to check it out. In any case, it seemed that one of Hellsing's own had disappeared, and she had a deep feeling that this was where we should begin searching. When I had asked whom, it was we were looking for, I was shocked and somewhat saddened to know that it was, in fact, my dear friend, Adrina Cameo Moretti.

Adrina had been my friend since the beginning of seventh grade, back at Clearview Junior High in the United States. She was an interesting person, known for her outspoken nature, love of the television series _Charmed_, and for simply being an outrageous, wildly tongued Italian-American. She had wavy, dark umber hair that reached her shoulders, piercing brown eyes, and had switched from glasses to contacts at the end of eighth grade. Granted, we had only known each other for a short period of time, yet I still consider her one of my closed friends, and knowing she was in this "realm" with me provided a bit of solace.

After all, if I could find Adrina safely, both of us could face these challenges together, and it is always a tad comforting to know a friend is there for you when you are in need.

**We headed out a little after nightfall,** as it took a few moments for Sir Integra to explain the mission and its details to Alucard and me. I had wondered if Sir Integra meant to send an action unit or two as backup, in case I somehow screwed up while out on the mission, but she assured me that having Alucard there was help enough. I was no one to disagree, for I knew, even if it was only secondhand, how powerful a monster Alucard was, and I had thought while still at the mansion that I wouldn't even be needed that night. Alucard could easily help himself in demolishing the wicked beasts inhabiting the warehouse, and as long as I didn't get in the way of his berserk bullet-firing, I would be safe for the most part.

If I did manage to become demolished in a frenzy of blessed silver rounds, I could only pray Alucard would spare me as he did Seras Victoria that night at the church. I wasn't positive I wanted to become a vampire, but I also knew more importantly that I wanted to find a way home before I died. If I needed to sell my soul in the process, so be it. I'm sure my mother would forgive me for throwing my life away in an act of ultimately salvaging my existence. Lord knows her safety and well being is what haunted my mind as I traveled alongside Alucard to our destination.

The warehouse was an unfit sight to behold; it was easily seen why such a building is condemned. The windows lacked plate glass or screen, with only the hollow frames to behold on ones located at the bottom level. All other windows were boarded over barbarously with rusted nails, and it was my only assumption that the vampires kept themselves to the upper floors during daylight hours. The faded red bricks on the building's exterior had lost their mortar over the years, and as I paced over to a black door at the side of the building to find it boarded over, I felt my heart sink. This place was ultimately impregnable, at least by the means of some human lacking any supernatural powers. After all, there was black steel stair leading to the roof of the building from the back side, yet I knew Alucard had traveled to the entry on top. It would be tacky and not at all as sneaky if we were to trespass through the same door, and I did not want to become a nuisance.

Instead, I tried vainly to peel away the thick boards covering the door, as I cut myself at several attempts on the rough wood and sharp nails. After I sliced the skin on my hands for the third time, I decided that it was more strategic to find an alternate entrance and not draw attention to any _leeches_ with the scent of my freshly poured blood. Thinking rather quickly, I wiped my aching hands on my black miniskirt to rid of the excess blood and stepped away from the door to examine the facade of the warehouse wholly.

I was too short to reach the windows above, and not skinny or compact enough to fit through the frames of the naked windows. The door's boards were too nasty an obstacle for me to undertake and not sacrifice too much, and the end result would be too unsatisfactory for my liking. However, upon another quick glance, small, plated windows leading to what appeared to be a basement lined the building near the ground on either side. As my only option left other than following Alucard was to improvise, I tested each of the windows by pushing hard on the frame. Every one seemed locked from the inside, until I found a single window that appeared to have a faulty lock. With might and main I was able to push the window inward, then slipped into the building stealthily and with ease.

I landed on an assortment of worn-out cardboard boxes, which thankfully cushioned my fall, as the basement was large and had a steep drop. I hastily jumped up from the haphazard jungle of boxes and whatnot to find the basement completely dark, minus the moonlight that struggled through the grimy, dusted-over windows. My heart contracted at this realization, as I always had a slight fear of the dark, and knowing there were savage beings roaming the warehouse was no consolation. Nonetheless, I swallowed hard on my fear and began fumbling about the basement, outstretching my arms much like a blind man and groping aimlessly at my surroundings. I knocked into a few metal tins and nearly tripped over more boxes, but eventually, I felt the cold steel of a stairway beneath my fingers.

Nothing on the inside of the building appeared to be boarded over, or at least not on the two bottom levels. However, there was no sight of life, or existence, on said levels either. When I came to the third level of the building, an uncanny notion washed over my body and flooded my ears with a loud ringing noise. I was suddenly cold, and as soon as the buzzing in my ears stopped, I could hear hushed voices in the distance of the long hallway. The talk seemed to originate past a few piles of stacked, uncut wood paneling, and I did not recognize either of the two. Yet there were definitely two persons having a conversation, for one voice was distinctly male, while the other, I guessed, was female.

Despite every thread of my being telling me hoarsely to "get the hell out of here," I knew my duty to Sir Integra and the Order of Protestant Kings was to locate the monsters, obliterate them, and possibly locate Adrina. While I wasn't crazy about finding a few vampires and killing them, the thought of Adrina being in harm's way set my mind to an almost search-and-destroy mode. No one was going to hurt my loved ones as long as I was around . . . mostly certainly not the likes of a _leech_.

That in mind, I stormed over to the origin of the voices, carefully placing myself a few feet away so that I might not be instantly detected. Most vampires weren't as keen as Alucard, I knew, and I also felt that if I breathed in controlled, soft amounts that I could be kept in stealth awhile longer. I listened in cautiously, knowing that, even if eavesdropping had always been a forte of mine, I was indeed intruding and messing with a few undead.

**"She isn't as lively as the last, Damir,"** I heard the female sigh, and even at the sound of her voice I could tell she was, or once was, refined.

"I understand that, Jenica, but the last girl was also something special," the man answered, his voice deep and coarse, as though he had been screaming for quite some time. "She wasn't a normal human; even without knowing her, I could tell why Hellsing requested her to fight for their side."

"If only you hadn't woken her, she would be a servant of ours now," Jenica responded in a remorseful scolding. "I told you once before that with slumbering humans, sudden movements can stir them to consciousness. If you had simply bitten her softly, and intensified gradually, she would've never noticed, and she would be your fledgling as you wished."

That made Damir angry, and he squawked in indignance. "I did as you instructed me, Jenica! It was simply that the girl somehow knew right away what I was doing . . . don't you remember? She attacked us while still sleeping. She didn't even open her eyes when she began flailing her limbs."

Jenica sighed in defeat. "I just don't know why you had to be so particular with your feeding. That girl wasn't much, Damir. She may have been pretty, and a virgin, but there are plenty of other girls out there just the same. We nearly risked our heads simply breaking in to take her."

"It was worth the risk. She wasn't like the rest, Jenica. She was _his_ first pick . . . I heard him discussing such information with Hellsing herself."

I was lost in confusion at that point. Who was this girl they spoke of, and exactly who is "he" supposed to be? I had a hunch that the man was Alucard, but for what reason was unclear. Still, I hated the feeling of the unknown. If something was even hinted at and perplexed me, I was stark raving until I understood, which could be a weakness or an advantage. Such matters could be used against me as a trap, but I thought it also showed that I can be quite persistent.

"Don't bring him up, Damir. He could be listening," Jenica whispered curiously. Yet again, they mentioned this man.

"There's naught to worry. If he was here, he would've shown up already," Damir insisted. "Besides, the only thing I smell is the scent of a virgin bleeding . . . "

There was a momentary pause in the conversation, and I suddenly remembered my sore, shredded fingers. I brought my hands to my face, and indeed, there was still blood seeping from the throbbing, pink cuts, though most of the blood was dried to my skin.

_Damn it, Scarlett_, I thought in chafing anger, wanting to kick myself for being so ignorant. _Even if you have most of the basics down, you couldn't remember the number one rule when dealing with leeches: Don't fucking bleed!_

"I can smell it too. Damir . . . it's strong. Whoever it is must be near," Jenica broke me from my self-induced berating. I could hear the ruffling of cloth, and then the blunt tap of rubber soles against the cement floor. The sound of footsteps became louder and louder, and I realized at once that someone was heading toward me.

Just as I turned my back in an attempt to make haste, I felt a rough hand at my shoulder constrict my advancement. The hand was bare, so I knew at once it wasn't anyone from Hellsing, as I had hoped it was Alucard. The grip was forceful and brutally mean, which made me wince from the pressure. At the sound of the stranger's voice behind me, my only guess as to the hand's owner was Damir.

"Well, well, who do we have here? A Hellsing brat, I presume," he chuckled and spun me around to face him. As soon as our eyes met, I saw the laughter and sickening lightheartedness leave his face to be replaced by longing, and shock. "You're that girl . . . so you've returned to your master, have you?"

My stomach tied in nauseating knots. "You are not my master, Damir. If anything, Sir Hellsing is to be considered my master."

"Not for long, my dear," he whispered with such a smile that my stomach churned. His hand traveled from my shoulder to the nape of my neck, and in another swift movement, he was holding my waist as well. "Soon, you will only answer to me."

"I don't think so, you creep," I spat, pushing at his chest with all my might to no avail. "Let go of me!"

"My Scarlett, I'm afraid that is not possible. You belong to me now," he smirked, and I suddenly realized how much more I favored Alucard's nearly psychotic sneering over this weirdo's. Speaking of which, where could he be? We were both after the same thing, so why hadn't he shown up yet?

No. I wasn't going to depend on him to save me. I was an able human being, and I had fended off looneys before just fine. So I gave Damir a final shove at the chest and kneed him in the groin before he could act otherwise. Just as I thought, my kneecap connecting with his crotch sent him staggering backward in pain, leaving me free to move.

"You bitch," he murmured through gritted teeth, and Jenica appeared behind him with a horrified look about her face. Damir's red irises suddenly enkindled with all the fiery passion of untamed wildfires, and he arched his back rabidly as his dark brown bangs hung in his eyes. I supposed this was to intimidate me more than anything. Luckily for him, it scared me senselessly.

However, I have been known to bluff as well as any, and even though I was shaking in my patent leather boots, I worked up the "courage" to talk trash to the enraged vampire. With a wild smirk about my face (which hid exactly how terrified I was), I began mocking the vampire for his weakness. "You know, you vampires and we humans aren't much different. A good kick to the crotch will still send both species reeling in agony."

"Don't you dare compare yourself to us, girl," Jenica bitterly shot back at me, nestling Damir in her arms as if he were either her baby or her lover. "We are superior to you, and always will be."

"Don't talk to her like that, Jenica," Damir protested and flung Jenica away from him. He then began trotting back to me, his breath shallow and eyes intense as a smile graced his lips. "The fact that she puts up a fight makes me want her even more. Only a woman of her likeness is worthy of my mastery."

I bit back on my anger, though the ire still seemed to suffuse me. "You will never be my master."

Abruptly and without warning, Damir charged at me and pinned me by the shoulders to one of the piles of plank wood. He pulled back my collar and drew his mouth to my neck, despite the sore's manifestation. "I will finish what I started last night, my dear. Then, you will know that I indeed am your master."


	5. Fun With Guns

**Just before Damir's lips sealed over the area of my neck,** I remembered the Smith & Wesson Model 65 "Ladysmith" I had holstered to the belt on my skirt. I had found the gun earlier at the bottom of my closet in its case, and it seemed to be chambered for .357 Magnum. While I knew that meant I couldn't shoot very accurately at the average range, Damir was close enough to me that I knew I wouldn't miss.

My "Ladysmith's" existence eluded me previously for some reason, but as I felt Damir's teeth realign on my sore, which sent rippling vibes of sheer torment down my spine, the gun popped into my mind. It didn't take me one more second to whip out the gun and shakily align the end of the barrel with Damir's temple. I hadn't fired a gun before, but I still rammed my finger down upon the trigger before the leech could sink his teeth into me.

"Who's Master now?" I mocked the vampire as his ashes fell in a grey clump to the floor. Just as I thought it would, that sent Jenica, in all her rancor, toward me with thoughts of vengeance.

"I knew you were no good for my Damir," Jenica's wisp of voice escalated in pure hate and heartbreak. Her long blonde hair formed of layers and outlined her features was now hanging savagely in front of her face.

While she had the voice of a refined, honorable woman, Jenica's true self was nothing of the sort. Her sheer white dress was torn at the bottom, its lace stripped from the shirt while it remained around her dramatic neckline. The dress's V-neck collar hid nothing of her chest, and because of the material's thinness, one could easily see she wore no bra. Her skin was sickly, grey, and her body unhealthily frail, and as she crept closer, I could see unsightly bags beneath her red eyes. My guess was that she hadn't fed in a long time.

"You interrupt our feeding, and now you've killed him!" she scowled, and the intensity of anger in her voice was tangible. "How dare you even lay a hand upon my Damir?"

"It is my duty to rid of vampires and other undead, Jenica," I answered solemnly, fiddling with my gun as I brought my gun into view. My hands shook so horribly that it was impossible to align the sights, and as Jenica continued to lurch forward, I knew that the potency of the bullets was of no assistance. If I couldn't land a shot on her, it didn't make a difference if I was firing .357 or .22. Thinking that, I made every effort to calm myself down and focus on the sights . . . all I had to do was keep Jenica occupied for a moment or two.

"You Hellsing brats and your duties, always thinking that you know what's right," Jenica squabbled with disdain, thrashing her arms angrily as she arrived about a foot away from me. "Do you think I chose to be this way? Well I didn't. It was Damir who turned me; he saved me on the brink of death. I was his fledgling, and I loved him . . . and now you've taken him away from me!"

"You hate me because if he had succeeded, you would no longer be his favorite," I thought aloud, my arms still shivering too much for the sights to arrange. _Just a moment longer . . . _

"You aren't any good for him! You could never give to him the way I did," her words rang out in acrimony, her fangs clenched as she tried to maintain her nonexisting composure. "You're not suited for the life of a vampire!"

"_That may be so, but neither are you_," a familiar voice permeated the room, and before I could even think as to whom it was, Jenica laid before me in a pile of grey flakes. Behind the fallen ashes stood a tall, shadowy figure, clad mostly in red and displaying a mouth full of sharp teeth in a smirk. His orange-lense wire-frame sunglasses reflected a soft yellow in the dim moonlight filtering through the windows high above.

"It's a beautiful night, wouldn't you say?" Alucard smiled wildly as he stepped over the ashes toward me. Just the sight of him made me want to scream.

"Where in hell have you been!" I blurted out in all my suppressed irascibility, longing to smack the daylights out of him. Sure, he showed to finish off the last vampire, which I had planned to do anyway, but he couldn't have graced me with his presence a few minutes prior, when I really needed help? Some "help" he was, really.

"It's good to see you too, Scarlett," he chuckled, his gaze falling down to my hands etched in blood and raw flesh. "Would you like some help with those cuts?"

"No. You've proven help enough tonight," I cynically retorted, huffily holstered my gun and put my arms to my sides. In my little fit of annoyance, I discovered that my hands had bled excessively, as I let a small trail of blood splats behind me and had blood pooling at my feet as I stood. _I had no idea the cuts were _that_ deep . . . _

"Honestly, maybe I should lend you a hand," Alucard whispered, walking yet another step closer each time I took a step back. Eventually, he had me to my back as he did in the bathroom before, with my helpless self looking up in exasperation to his deceivingly handsome face. If only his mere eyes hadn't been so enticing to me, or if I deemed him revoltingly unattractive, I might have had a decent defense.

"The only thing you wish to lend me is your tongue, in exchange for my blood," I scornfully corrected him in his effort to persuade me.

He was silent for a moment, yet his words returned with a smirk. "Is that really such an uneven trade?"

I was struck briefly speechless by the absurdity of the idea. "Why would I want your tongue on my skin?"

He crept in closer, and the odd metallic smell of drying blood suffused his breath. His long arms just outside my shoulders prevented me from moving, though I know I wouldn't have been able to even if I was given the chance. His gaze rendered me paralyzed.

"Why wouldn't you?" he inquired me with a curious smile.

I sighed in aggravation and rolled my eyes. "You're so pompous that it's palpable."

**Out of nowhere,** I heard a soft sigh that one often makes while stirring to consciousness after a deep sleep. I managed to duck under Alucard's arms just enough to see a body lying limply betwixt two large columns of plank wood. The girl's hair was dark umber, and her skin was fairly pale, yet she definitely wasn't dainty. Her hips were slightly large and she wore a cream-colored, delicate lacy shirt with a black knee-length skirt complete with wide leather belt and large gold belt-buckle. Her leather boots looked like they could give one hell of an ass-kicking, and before even coming within feet of her, I knew it was Adrina.

I ran over to Adrina as fast as I could, kneeling down at her side to make sure she was okay. She seemed surprised to see me, and really didn't recognize me at all first, but after a few groggy moments, she realized.

"Scarlett! Damn girl, you look hot," she smirked, sitting up straight to give me a playful punch in the shoulder.

"You don't look too bad yourself, Moretti," I smiled, embracing my dear friend for the first time in what seemed like forever. "I've missed you."

"Me too, sista," she grinned, hugging me back with that ferocious, spine-crushing hold of hers that she dubbed a 'bear-hug,' although I doubt even a bear would have a hard time outdoing her strength. Adrina apparently looked over my shoulder and saw Alucard, in all his smirking glory. "Hey, it's that vampire!"

"Don't I get a hug too, Scarlett? After all, I'm the one that saved you from that sobbing vampire back there," Alucard interjected with a smile that beared all of his amazingly white teeth.

However, I did not think it was so funny, and let go of Adrina to face the vampire with my most earnest display of outrage. "You stole the kill is what you did, Alucard. I was _just_ about to shoot her; I know you saw me standing there aiming the barrel right at her forehead!"

"Well, I couldn't let you take all the credit," he simpered, walking up to me to place a hand at my shoulder. "Abolishing a floor full of ghouls wasn't our mission, and the vampires were. Besides, you got to spend an evening with me. Isn't that reward enough?"

_Here we go again with his gigantic ego_, I thought bitterly. "You didn't even show up until the last minute, and you got to take the easy route inside here! I sliced up my fingers trying to pry away boards, while you could've just as easily teleported inside..." I smugly held a smirk, "but you were _too _busy showing off, weren't you?"

"You know, the offer is still open for me to help you with those little cuts of yours," he totally avoided my point, which sent me blaring.

I grabbed Adrina's arm hoarsely and began walking off, stomping away from Alucard in anger, much like an irascible, spoiled child deprived of some want. "Come on, Adrina. We're leaving."

"What about vampy over there?" she asked in stupor, poking at my hand as I suppose my grip was a little powerful.

I sighed, overwhelmed with contempt and the knowledge that there was nothing I could do about it. "Believe me," I spoke in a frustrated hush, "he'll catch up."


	6. Gym Class Doesn't Prepare You

**I needn't go into details of our reporting back and assessment of the investigation to Sir Integra;** that is simply unneeded and mostly likely deemed dull. It was as to be expected, with Alucard receiving seemingly more recognition than I, although he did use a bit of self-control in the presence of his Master... for which I am grateful. I suppose that Adrina acquired a good, restful sleep that night, as I am unsure due to our immediate parting of ways after returning to headquarters.

However, I can honestly say that I kept having disturbances while trying to sleep; something was bothering my subconscious and kept sending odd waves of discomfort down my spine. It was the reoccurring dream that tortured me, the same dream that would sometimes haunt me back home.

I would appear to have waked, yet not in my old room or in the simple canopy bed I must occupy now. Instead, I would wake up in some small space, with the walls tight around me and constricting any true movement. Having claustrophobia riddle me with unease ever since the age of a small child, I would begin breathing hard and knocking ineffectively against the straitened confinements.

Each time this dream would ghost me I would see the same thing before I genuinely woke up with beads of sweat speckling my skin abhorrently. Each time, the top of the box would open to reveal a shadowy figure with indefinite facial features and body structure yet still familiar to my senses. Each time, I would realize the box I detested, the box in which I laid, was nothing more than a coffin without adornment or expensive cost.

Each time, I opened my eyes to fear if this was another one of my common premonitions, for I knew only two fates awaited me if such an event proved reality. It was either a death which released me into peace, or a death which would bind me painfully to the darkest pits of hell... neither of which were a destiny I favored so soon.

In total, I was able to catch three hours of dreamless sleep when the sun rose and peeked beneath the drawn curtains of my room. I could only hope that would be enough to carry me through another day of strenuous training, all of which was completely new to me.

While I had fired my gun effectively at the warehouse the previous night, in truth, that was my first time handling a gun and killing someone...er, something. I wouldn't say it was enjoyable, for each moment spent unable to align my sights was mental anguish at its finest, though with decimating what I feared came a certain notion of relief. The exact feeling is almost indescribable.

I awoke to the blunt tapping of a fist against my door. Just as he had the former morning, Walter walked calmly into my room to be the first person I saw each day. My breakfast was something rather small and wasn't provided, as he hadn't roused me from slumber for such a reason. In fact, I was to report to the training grounds a full two hours earlier that morn, for I suppose a special event of some sort was waiting in the dull sunlight drifting through the dense clouds. I can't say I was crazy about the idea, seeing as I am not much of a morning person, yet the unfavorable conceding of my interest in the unknown motivated me to make haste.

I chose to wear a very casual outfit, as I knew I had a big day of training ahead of me, which is also why I wore my hair up in a ponytail. I donned a tight grey tank top and elongated gold Maltese cross, with the white gloves I had grown so accustomed to seeing, and a pair of black jeans. I would have worn my military jacket over top, just to offset the informality, but I knew I had "physical training" with some guy before I headed to the shooting ranges.

Along the way to the grounds, I snagged a cup of coffee and an apple from the small kitchen connecting to the mess hall. It was there that I met him.

Dark hair with short bangs barely skimming his thick eyebrows, and dark, purling brown eyes that matched his tan skin in an ineffably perfect manner was what made me nearly spill the hot coffee down my front. He waltzed in with a cool, smooth swagger, which I had only previously seen Alucard perform with such expertise. Holstered to his belt were two of the biggest guns I had ever seen, aside from Hellsing's wild card's (of course) and I couldn't help but gawk artlessly and allow my eyes to open full-stretch as he glided toward me and leant against the counter.

"Hey, you're our _stuntman_, right?" he asked with a voice so flawless it left me breathless and lost for words. His accent was thickly Spanish, yet all the more enticing. "Or, should I say _stunt_woman?"

"...Stuntman is fine. It gets the point across," I managed to whisper in my event of stupefying admiration. Here I was, in the essence of such a fine specimen, standing there dumbly with a bitten apple in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Still, I couldn't help but stare.

He pushed off the counter effortlessly and sauntered over to the coffee maker, pouring himself a cupful of unsweetened, black coffee. After taking a sip, he simply gazed at me with his warm brown eyes that scalded my inside with pleasure as I felt him looking deep within my soul. There was no exact emotion visible in his stare, simply enjoying the view, I suppose.

"When I heard we had a daredevil on our hands, I never would've expected a woman," he smirked and took another silent drink. "We rarely get women here as soldiers... in fact, we are rarely graced with a female presence in total." He leant in closer, careful in a casual manner to not spill a drop. "But I can't say I don't enjoy our new edition."

I could feel my cheeks burning like a girl having naughty yet so sweet suggestions whispered into her ear for the first time. I managed to pull my eyes away from his and focused on the skin-tight, muscle-defining black tank he wore beneath a black leather jacket. "I don't mind being here."

I could hear the soft squeak of leather and suddenly felt his body heat close in on my personal space, amplifying my body with awkward radiation. "Tell me, why is such a nice girl like you here in this organization, fighting as one of our own?"

"Under request, Sir," I answered simply, not sure exactly if he was deserving of the title but also certain that he wasn't a fellow soldier. I scanned down his outfit, and he wore form-fitting black pants over top of shining boots. The only thing offsetting his dark outfit was the white gloves stretched over his fingers. Surely, a man with his grace, and style, wasn't just some private like me.

"Request, eh? Sir Integra has some fine taste," he smirked, his eyes traveling the length of my body and sending my already scarlet cheeks into a burning frenzy. He was checking me out...someone was checking _me_ out! Boy, was that new.

"Actually, Sir, Alucard is the one that picked me," I corrected him faintly as I remembered the discussion Integra had with both Alucard and I before my first mission to the warehouse. Integra said that she expected great success out of me; otherwise, she felt like she might have to handpick _all_ of her soldiers herself from then on.

All the man did was smile at my comment before looking me back in the eyes. "Who's your captain, girl?"

"Yesterday, it was Mr. Higgins, but today I was told to report to someone named Mr. Vasquez for physical training. Afterward, I need to go to Mr. Bernadotte and train with the Wild Geese, as Sir Integra said his group was what most suited me," I explained to the best of my memory. "So, I guess my captain would be Mr. Bernadotte, although I need to see Mr. Vasquez soon... I don't want to make a bad first impression."

He smirked. "Don't worry, you're doing fine." He then extended his hand, "Enrique Vasquez, Miss...?"

"Scarlett Vera Cross, Señor." I gasped and accepted his hand, nearly falling flat on my face from shock. This man was the person who would train me "physically"... I hoped whatever that meant, it wouldn't get too personal. If it did, I would probably faint from embarrassment.

"Scarlett... beautiful name," he smiled, and after detaching from our handshake, he ran a hand up the side of my arm. AIt suites you well... a beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

I nearly swooned. This guy... he was so romantic, and strong... and my God, was he gorgeous. I could get used to training and working out to eventually kill off vampires and the like if I got to spend my day looking at Mr. Vasquez.

"Well, your training starts soon, so when you finish that apple, meet me outside, okay?" He left the room with the same accomplished swagger in which he entered, leaving me in his dust to try and collect myself from a meeting with such a fine slice of man.

**My physical training went better than I had first expected.** Basically, Mr. Vasquez was to mentor me in the part of combat that uses no weapons, just skin-to-skin, head-to-head. I was never very graceful, and I still wasn't, but Mr. Vasquez didn't seem to mind. In fact, he found it funny whenever I would trip over my own feet, fall flat on my butt while trying to perform a flip-kick, or stumble clumsily as I tried to regain balance. I was an easy opponent without a doubt, because I am extremely uncoordinated and could hardly hold a gun without trembling.

Mr. Vasquez took advantage of my ineptness, because whenever I would come close to punching him hard in the chest, or kneeing him in the stomach, he would quickly grab me and hold me against my weakness (which depended on the move). Somehow, his restraint always seemed to be very close, with either my back against his front as he spoke into my ear and sent chills down my spine, or with my body seemingly mashed up against his as he looked deep into my eyes. He might have been a very attractive man, but I can't say I wasn't uncomfortable in his grip, with his body heat surmounting my own. I think that might make any straight girl a little uneasy.

"How much training have you done in the past?" Mr. Vasquez asked me while holding my upper arms taut at my back and lifting me off the ground slightly, his mouth hovering close to my bare neck.

The grasp was tighter than what I would've enjoyed. "None, Sir, unless you count gym class."

His voice didn't rise with any emotion easily pinpointed, and I didn't sense a smile in his voice. "Well, that does explain a lot. We're going to have to work very hard to get you into the physical range you'll need as a Hellsing soldier . . . let alone a Goose."

Great, just what I wanted to hear. I understood practice was the only true method of perfection, but it always seemed to be quite the inconvenience. I admit, I've always been more interested in the result, rather than the steps taken to achieve it. I sighed before I could catch myself.

"Don't get discouraged, though," he assured me as he let me regain footing on the ground. However, he spun me around to face him before I could think twice. "I'm not going to go easy on you . . . but from what everyone is saying, you'll be fine."

_What could he mean by that?_ I wondered, but before I got a chance to verbally ask, I heard the piercing booms of a machine gun in the distance signaling the switching of stations for me. Because Mr. Vasquez had taken me to a desolate area on the grounds, the other sounds from far-off training areas weren't confused with his watchman's indications.

I was happy for the time away from Mr. Vasquez. He had me sweating like a filthy pig by the end of our first day, as I was decidedly out of shape. I may have looked okay from the outside, but my muscles weren't built up at all, so I was aching from head to toe by the time I reached the gates leading to the main training grounds. The soles of my leather boots made dull scuffs against the asphalt as I met my future routine for a while.

There were soldiers left and right, officers and assistants scurrying back and forth in my path from station to station, captain to captain. The entire scene was pure, unadulterated chaos from my inexperienced eyes, but I was able to find a soldier cleaning his revolver on my way to Mr. Bernadotte to ask him exactly _where_ Mr. Bernadotte was. I said I was thankful for the soldier's kindness and headed farther straight and made a quick left, where I met a jumbled bunch of brawny men talking loudly . . . and without a captain in sight.

One of the soldiers noticed me standing there with my eyes bulging from my sockets. "Hey there, Miss. You need help getting somewhere?"

"Actually, I was looking for the area where the Wild Geese train . . . I'm supposed to be working alongside them," I answered to get the disapproval of an entire group of manly laughter.

I saw a tall, lean looking guy with ruffled hair walking toward me, pigeon-toed and awkward. He leant against a bit of wire fencing and looked down at me from his high altitudes. "I think you might be confused. Only girl we work with is Seras."

"I am most certainly not confused," I retorted and subconsciously shifted to my usual stance of arms akimbo. "Sir Integra herself decided it best for me to work with the Wild Geese under Mr. Bernadotte's order."

I suddenly acquired a conceited smirk that made me later wonder if Alucard was beginning to grow on me with his egocentric ways. "If you are that skeptical, you should ask her yourself."

"I don't believe zat will be necessary, Mademoiselle Cross," a deep voice called out from behind me. I pivoted to see a man not as tall as Alucard but still towered over me. He wore a cowboy hat with the left side flap folded up with some sort of emblem and an eyepatch over his left eye. His long blonde hair was held together in a long braid at the back of his head, tied off with a ribbon of some sort. There was a cigarette perched in his mouth as he grinned.

I gazed, confused as to why he would say such things. I suppose my look asked the question on its own, for he continued breathlessly. "Sir Integra 'as made it very clear to me exactly 'oo you are."

I sighed, thinking Thank God for the Relief, but before I could express any further gratitude, I quickly felt like taking it back. Mr. Bernadotte's smile faded to be replaced by a disdainful grimace. "Favored by zat ghastly vampire, are you? 'Ee 'as a zing for pretty young girls, doesn't 'ee?"

I was deeply insulted and replied the only way I knew how: I resorted to my split personality of the wise-ass. "Excuse me Sir, but don't you as well?"

"Zat may be so, but at least I don't suck zem dry of all zeir value," he responded quickly. He must have had experience in this type of verbal exchange.

"No, I suppose you don't," I murmured. "But in case you can't tell, I'm still alive and well plan to be for a few more decades."

He simpered, as if he heard some hilarious joke that I apparently missed. "Do you really zink zat matters to 'im? 'E'll find some way to get you."

"Don't talk about Alucard that way," I snapped. "In fact, don't talk about _me_ that way! Simply because you have preconceived ideas about every vampire and every girl out there does not mean that either one of us is stereotypical. I can very well fend for myself, Sir, and so can a lot of other women. Simply being around Seras Victoria would teach you that much."

I immediately heard a loud guttural noise which vaguely sounded like "ahem." Mr. Bernadotte and I both looked behind me to see the police girl herself, rocking on her heels anxiously with her big cherry eyes wide in discomfort. I could only imagine how long she had been standing there before she was able to catch our attention.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting?" she asked nervously. Seeing as I said "yes" and Mr. Bernadotte said "no" at the exact same time, I suppose she took it upon herself to continue anyway. "Sir Integra would like to see Miss Cross immediately; she says it's rather urgent."

**I bid farewell to Mr. Bernadotte and followed Seras accordingly.** When we were out of hearing distance of her fellow troop, she asked me in bewilderment exactly how I knew who she was. I informed her that it was a long story, and to put it short-and-sweetly, I had heard a lot about her lately and had once seen her training (well, I wasn't about to tell her the _entire_ truth; I have a habit of explaining everything in very long, winding sentences. That would have taken way too long, and it wasn't like I was really lying. I had seen her training before and had heard a lot about her . . . in the manga I borrowed from one of my friends).

Of course, she brought up a reoccurring theme of that particular day: my popularity as one of Hellsing's finest, and newest, was well-known to seemingly all of the organization. She didn't ask that many questions, but she definitely asked enough to make me uncomfortable. I never felt all right talking about myself, even if it was of someone else's interest. It felt like bragging . . . until she brought up how much time Alucard seemed to be spending with me.

"You must be joking. I've only been here for one day," I chuckled, finding it oddly humorous that the idea was so ludicrous.

"No really. I didn't see him at all yesterday, and everyone, including Sir Integra, has said he seems to fancy you," she smiled as we turned a corner inside the mansion. "I think that's partially why she wants to see you right now."

I suddenly felt very pensive. If Sir herself had observed some change in Alucard's character around me, or if he seemed to be excessively flirtatious (not that I even knew there was a limit with him), or anything denoting a "fancy" for me, then the gossip must have had some verity. But I still didn't see myself to be appealing to some grandly powerful vampire, seeing as I was wimpy and gagged at the sight of anything too gruesome. Then again, I remembered reading _Dracula_ by Bram Stoker, and how Mina Harker was also very feminine, so I suppose I should stop acting like a hypocrite and shut up. After all, I was beginning to categorize myself against a vampire, much like Mr. Bernadotte was trying to do earlier.

I didn't like jumping to conclusions either, so I let that thought mingle with the rest of the boggled waves in my mind until we reached the large double doors of Sir Integra's office. We met Walter at the doors, and he checked in with Sir Integra to see that everything was fine and I could enter. Seras began walking back out to the training ground, and as I suddenly felt that sickeningly foreboding feeling in the pit of my fluttery stomach, I knew I was regretting everything I ever thought about Hellsing when I was back on "my" earth. I regretted thinking that it might be something spectacular to be in this place, or that I would give anything to meet someone from that manga.

In truth, I would have given anything to be home again.


	7. She's On The Opposing Team?

_A/N: I apologize for the gap in my updating. I know everyone was begging me to continue and add a new chapter soon, but I immediately found myself in the midst of too much work in too little time. That being said, here is Chapter Seven, and while I apologize for the abrupt ending, I hope you enjoy it and I will try very hard to put the next installment up quickly without sacrificing quality. Happy reading!_

**Upon entering Sir Integra's office for the third time over the course of two days,** I felt the unease in my stomach drop to my knees and give me the most repulsive feeling, as if the butterflies swarming in my belly would gruesomely break open my middle and fly around the room aimlessly, slathered in blood and stomach acids. I promptly forced such disgusting mental images from my brain and tried to appear as dignified as possible in front of such superiority, although it wasn't easy.

Integra did not appear to be in a pleasant mood at the time being; I only knew what horror that might bring. I had watched one too many episodes and read too many pages to erase the frightening visuals of Sir Integra slamming her hands to her desk and screaming wildly in vexation. Having her rage spilled upon Alucard in person did not help to settle my ailments, either.

"Scarlett, we meet again rather soon," Sir Integra greeted me with an unidentifiable tone—it was in the middle of monotone and teeth-grating. Her hands were clutched with fingers laced in front of her, and a slight glare from rare sunlight seeping through the thick London clouds cast a glare on her large, round glasses. "Take a seat."

I did as instructed, forgetting my knotted intestines and focused on the meeting at hand. I was positive that Integra's issue with me was indeed worth listening to, for she was not a woman known for irrelevancy or casualness. Besides, Seras had told me the way there that the news was pressing—I just prayed with fingers crossed that it would not force me to see the ugly side of Sir Hellsing.

"You must be wondering why I've called you here during your session with Captain Bernadotte." Sir Integra began with a fixed expression. "I know training is a critical area for you, so I'll make this brief.

"I have been informed that you have a very strong relationship with a member of Iscariot Section XIII," she stated rather grimly. "Is that so?"

"Sir, I am not aware of a relationship with anyone from Iscariot," I responded, startled. I hadn't even met anyone from such an organization, so it was completely oblivious to me why anyone would assume, or suspect, I knew someone.

"You do not know a Trinity Westiguard?" she inquired in a voice I had once heard a lawyer take as he cross-examined a witness. Oh, how I really did not enjoy being in the spotlight.

"Trinity Westiguard?" I asked dumbly, caught off-guard.

"Yes," Sir Integra answered, practically rolling her eyes.

"I do believe I know someone by that name. We went to middle school and high school together as close friends."

Memories of Trinity came flooding back to me almost immediately. Trinity, or Trin, was a beautiful girl who had an abnormal obsession with an actor named Orlando Bloom. She had long, shimmering brown hair that she later cut a bit shorter and had blonde highlights added, and her blue eyes were like two large cornflowers with thick, long lashes protecting them. We met my first year at middle school in one of my classes, and after she introduced me to her friends (who I quickly befriended as well), a bond began to form.

She was taller than me, as most were, and always dressed with style, yet practicality. She was such a kind person who I trusted with many secrets, ideas, and dreams, and she was always there for me when I needed a sympathetic ear to hear me out when my days were as blue as sapphire and nights as dreadful as a long winter spent alone. Whenever I would have issues with my family life, or with myself, she was there for me.

Hearing that Trin was on the opposing side sent an instant silver bullet into the belly of what felt like my suddenly dead heart.

"So you _do_ know her," Integra stated once again for her own clarity. She then sighed and buried her head into her gloved hands for a short, silent moment. As she spoke, her words were hardly audible as the walls of the perfectly constructed palace in my mind came crashing down, from brilliant gold into tiny pebbles of unpolished rock. ". . . .Father Maxwell's idea." was all I heard.

I caught myself slipping into my own thoughts. "What was Father Maxwell's idea?"

Again, she exhaled. "While it is most certainly not usual for a rookie soldier to accompany his chief in command on business, Maxwell suggested that it might prove to be an intelligent move later if I have you travel with Alucard and me. He stated that a meeting between you and Westiguard may be wise, as it will most likely lessen the chance of shock later on brought on by an encounter." She paused. "After all, if not another from Hellsing, _you_ will have to kill off that Catholic at some point."

_Kill Trin?_ I asked myself in a shaken manner, barely managing to fit the words together in a sentence consecutively without bursting into a fit of madness. _How absurd. I can't imagine why—_

"Are you positive this is the Westiguard with whom you are familiar, Scarlett?" Integra queried in apathy. "You do not appear to be in a good way."

"Do you know how she looks, Sir?"

"Yes. Brown hair with blonde streaks, blue eyes—"

"Thats her," I said as quickly as I could, trying to force out the realization from my mind. The more I held off the pain, I thought, the less it will hurt later . . . it had to dull a bit eventually, right?

"Very nice. Are you in a well enough condition to. . . ." Sir Integra appeared to be searching for the right words. It seemed like she hadn't gotten a restful sleep in two full days, and her office existence was a complete drag if not stressful as hell. I wondered vaguely why someone so beautiful should be forced to uphold such a duty. . . .

"Do you care to accompany me tonight?" she finally spoke, and I felt I had no choice but to agree. I did not want to see what Trin had become, but more truthfully wanted to confront this . . . person . . . and assure myself that whatever else I must face could not compare to losing Trin.

If only I knew then what I would later find out.

**Needless to say, training was a bore.** Sure, I was pushed far beyond the limits on my limits, but I do not see why it is necessary to detail Captain Bernadotte's blatant slighting on my behalf. The man obviously felt that it was deign to do any sort of interaction with me, as if that would somehow connect him to the vampires that allegedly "favor" me. Appropriately, I was contemned and spoken to in a nauseatingly patronizing manner—or my purity as a human was prodded at with sharp tongues. I thought it might have been bad enough that I was a woman in an essentially male world, but because of Alucard, to put it simply, I was damned in the eyes of the man I must serve under.

In other words, it was a very long day. Thankfully, nightfall seemed to go by quicker.

As instructed, I met with Integra inside the expansive library that housed what felt like miles of books on all subjects of interest. Hazy alabaster stars glowed like blisters on the flawless velvet sky, and a full golden moon sent deep rumbles through my body as I stared aimlessly out the large glass windows. The vibrations reminded me subtly of the echoes of music one feels when dancing at an impressive rock concert, where each pound on the drums ripples down your spine and the blaring of the bass guitars rips through the calm pulse of your heart. The moon encompassed me with hypnosis like no other . . . well, unless you consider. . . .

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I heard a soft whisper at my ear that nearly tore the skin from my bones. The scent of drying blood on his breath and ancient elegance that I could not pinpoint reminded me of my current location on the globe.

"Yes. I could spend hours gazing here," I breathed with a shallow voice that I could barely hear above the blaring of my heart's imitation of a snare drum. He was very close, so close I could feel heat from his body engulfing mine. Despite his lack of mortal life, Alucard seemed to possess more fire than most anyone I knew.

"Are you finally ready, Servant?" Sir Integra's voice broke me from my fascination and frightening vulnerability, both of which were replaced by unadulterated embarrassment; if only Sir Integra knew how I was thinking about her loyal Alucard.

"Of course, Master," Alucard responded in his dark happiness and pulled away from me, taking his warmth with him. It surprised me to feel how cold I usually felt without him standing near me . . . I had not noticed the difference during the day, but with the moon's luminescence bending toward me, it became all too clear.

I feared to think more on that subject, in case he might be listening in on my thoughts like he did so often with humans.

"Miss Cross, aren't you going with them?" I heard Walter's intriguing British voice remove me from my stupor. I looked his way and, to my dismay, I locked eyes with a mildly agitated woman, an entertained butler, and an amused vampire. I could only wonder how my daydreaming expression must have looked.

"Yes, Walter. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Sir Integra," I apologized meekly and approached my superior and her favored subject.

The plane ride to a place kept secret from me was, thankfully, quiet. I had fallen asleep at my window seat, as the traveling was peaceful and I found our tranquil gliding across the air to be soothing, and the turbulence took the energy right out of me. I missed the sound of raindrops softly pattering against window sills and rooftops at night, though I eventually found sleep while thinking about ballroom dancing in a light rain that coated the scene like dew. I had always enjoyed dancing, and while I wasn't trained in anything traditional besides merengue, watching women in full Victorian ensembles and men dressed in decadent suits with top hats was comforting per se. Its beauty was enough to allow my tense muscles relaxation.

I awoke to the sound of the pilot's voice over the loud speaker, informing me that we had landed and that the plane had just been emptied of all passengers C with the exception of me. I met up with Alucard outside of the plane, as he was meandering down a long hallway filled with extravagant paintings near the entrance of the art museum. I thought it pleasantly lovely that the meeting was held at an art museum—I always found studying older works of art to be enchanting.

"Hello," I smiled as I gained on the lazily moving nosferatu. The lighting in the hall uncovered a beautiful sheen to his dark, thick hair, and as his red eyes flickered toward me I felt a chill crawl down my back. His gaze lasted but a mere second, yet stopped my heart for two whole beats.

"I was beginning to wonder if the plane might leave with you still on board," Alucard smirked, smugly content with his own humor. I mentally stuck out my tongue in response but maintained my maturity on the surface. I simply told him how funny he was in my most sarcastic voice, and waited for his response . . . which ended up being a question about my fondness for dance.

"I loved dancing when I was younger," I wistfully answered as I nostalgically reminisced in the corners of my mind about my childhood days filled with tap shoes and rhythm and blues. When he asked me what made me stop, I responded the only way I knew: "My father's drafting caused money to become a lot tighter, and soon, my mom couldn't afford to pay for lessons _and _support my baby sister and me."

Talking about it brought back painful memories of my father from a few years back. My friends' fathers, it seemed, were all too old to go off to war unless he desired such a thing, But my father was a few years short of being over the deadline, and so one evening, we got a letter from the government denoting a need for my father's assistance over in Iraq. My mother was heartbroken, and the pain of it didn't sink in for me until I came home from school one day and realized I may never be greeted by that husky, "G'afternoon, sweetheart," ever again. In fact, as I stood there talking to Alucard, I felt my heart being shattered into tiny bloody pieces, because only then did it occur to me that I would never know of my father's safety while in this world.

I would never be able to see my little sister graduate from middle school, or high school, or even from the second grade class she was in currently. She would grow up to be a beautiful woman without my witness . . . she would get married without my attendance, have nieces and nephews whom would never meet their Aunt Scarlett. My mother would pass into old age and slip away without me being able to kiss her goodbye, or hold her hand for the last time. Just as important, I would never see my tall, strong, lean father ever again . . . and if he was taken out in war, I would never receive the hauntingly short and emotionless letter from the Army saying such a thing.

No. I would be stuck here, in this strange world, fighting for my life every day against vampires and the crazies from the Vatican Section XIII. I would learn how to shoot guns and fire off cannons, and I would build up muscle on my bones and a shell around my heart. I would be forced to see innocent people slaughtered, and I might even get killed myself. It was the first time since I arrived in that world that it occurred to me: things were not going to get any better than they were right then . . . only worse.

"Such a thing is painful to realize, isn't it?" Even though I was learning quickly what expressions were linked to what emotions, I could not tell how Alucard was feeling when he asked me that question. I wondered how it felt for him to know for so long how he will ultimately die . . . I myself hated the mere thought of it. My mind then suggested that maybe that was the reason why he acted the way he did . . . he was enjoying his stay here for as long as he could.

_"I see you're getting along well with the plague, Scarlett,"_ I heard an eerily familiar voice opposite my place in the long, narrow hall. Following the words' origin, my fears of what I might find were assured: I was looking into the face of the woman formerly known as 'Trin' Westiguard.

She advanced toward me, with a haughty strut in her stepping that I had never noticed before. Her hair was pulled back in a tight, glossy, brown-and-blonde bun without bangs to hide any skin on her creaseless face. Her ears were bare of earrings, though her neck was adorned with a large, inevitably heavy silver cross. Trinity's once soft but thin figure was now lean and muscular. Instead of a swooping neckline and miniskirt with Uggs, she wore a black turtleneck beneath a grey trench coat, straight-legged black pants, and patent-leather boots. Her fingers were even covered in the thick material of the white gloves.

The Trinity I once knew was most definitely not the woman now facing me.

Her lip came up into a slight rabid snarl. "I expected such—you always did have a bad habit of lying down with _the dogs_."

Despite the fact that I most certainly was not lying down with anyone, especially Alucard, I held my tongue and kept such thoughts to myself. If I waited, I knew an insult like no other would come to me eventually. As an alternative, I greeted her with biting politeness that made the muscles in my jaw twitch. "Hello, Trinity. It has been quite a while, hasn't it?"


	8. Unhappy Reunion

_A/N: Once again, I apologize for this cliffhangered chapter as I did the last one ('tis a bad habit of mine, I am sorry to admit). I promise it is all for a good cause, however, because Chapter Nine is expected to be longer and hopefully very interesting. I have big plans for this story in the next chapter, so if my next update is delayed, it is probably because I am still working on it. Other than that, enjoy!_

**Trinity extended her hand for a formal handshake,** and I could feel the tension between us spark with dangerous voltage. I could feel every emotion I had conjured in the past few hours stabbing at my tongue. She had committed treason of the highest degree in my book, and to stand there and see her with that conceited look about her face was like inhaling the gross fumes of a stink bomb as a high school prank—simply nauseating.

Alucard was watching from the corner, seemingly content with watching our display of stinging courtesy. I suppose he found it humorous for me to act so weakly civilized in the presence of my enemy. I tried not to focus on him that much—the thought made me want to stop acting so mature and simply start screaming bloody murder at my former ally.

Trinity, however, did not seem to mind. "You have changed a lot, Scarlett," she mentioned smugly. I did not realize the purpose for her conceit at first, but after her next comment it became bitterly obvious.

"It's nice to see that there really was a person beneath all of your excess fat," she sneered, and I felt the muscles of my hand contract as if a thousand volts of electricity just gashed through my heart.

I felt like hurting her so badly at that moment—only an overweight, or formally heavy, person can grasp the agony of those comments. Her ignorance of the issue, and her assumption that I could have melted away the extra fat easily at any given moment enraged my already perturbed spirit. I could feel my eye beginning to twitch, which was also just as unpleasant, as I was reminded of the idiosyncracies of Father Maxwell.

I no longer denied myself of malicious trade.

"It is nice to see that you've rid of your qualms against showing off your inner bitch," I retorted, my teeth practically grating off their enamel in choler. I let go of her hand. "Traitor."

"I did not betray you, Scarlett. I simply know what is worth fighting for, unlike you Protestants." Trin emphasized the last word in such a way that it made me feel she saw it to be synonymous to "Pagan" or "Nazi."

I wondered what Maxwell had drugged her with to become such a vacuous and narrowminded slave to Catholicism... she _must _have been high to be such an idiot in public.

"It is a pity you are all sentenced to Hell, while you believe you are doing the right thing," she failed an attempt to look sympathetic.

"Do not pity the Protestants, you Catholic hog," I spoke, although my utterance was only a very short baby step away from being a growl. "We do not confuse the innocent with the damned, and we are not murderers of God's own children. We fight with our minds _and_ guns, unlike you, hiding behind your fancy weaponry blessed by the drying, ancient Pope."

I couldn't hide a smile. "Such vanity is considered a quite a blundering sin to Christianity, wouldn't you agree? After all, Iscariot seemed to be such a fitting expert on such mistakes."

I suppose I struck a chord in Trinity's brainwashed interior; there appeared to be some feeling left in her. Her eyes virtually popped from her skull, and the animalistic behavior began to show itself—she reminded me vaguely of the fierce bulls charging down the streets of Spain, eyeing the scattered humans skittering to flee from the scene. She was just as stubborn, feral, and ugly.

**Laughably, Trinity was, for once, denied the last word, **as Integra and Maxwell appeared in the room before she could reply. I was relieved of being on the spotlight, as I never did like heated debate. On top of such, religion was never an easy topic for me—I was a good Baptist, saved and baptized, went to church, believed in the doctrines preached at Sunday school and during the sermons . . . but none of the above helped to make my verbal handicap any easier to handle.

Alucard appeared to be equally alleviated, to my surprise. I supposed he did not much like talk of faith . . . then again, I also surmised that two minutes with Anderson would deplete anyone's patience with the topic.

"I see your servants have already met Trinity," I heard Father Maxwell speak in a soft, hushed voice to Sir Integra. Her expression revealed similar vexation to dealing with ten rowdy kindergartners.

"It appears so," Sir Integra responded during a deep sigh.

Father Maxwell looked just as I had expected him. His white-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, his snakelike eyes realistic beyond my brain's solace, pale skin clean but forever tainted in my brown eyes. The self-satisfied simper on his thin lips echoed Trinity's eerily, and I shuddered to think if there was the possibility of a romance cover-up in the Vatican between a respected priest and . . . whatever position held by Trinity.

His very devout outfit was crisp and looked as if it went through dry-cleaning regularly, although I knew that his harmless appearance meant that he was anything but benign. Iscariot was a vicious, cold-blooded section of the Catholic's base, and I knew Maxwell would have me meet Trinity just as soon as he would have her slice my head clear off my shoulders.

To say the least, these Catholics' parsimony was not the only dangerous thing about them.

I felt the juices in my stomach curdle as I gazed upon his wretched form, previously unfamiliar with me . . . although I knew plenty about him, his fanaticism, and his dronies.

"Is this the new addition of yours, Hellsing?" Maxwell asked Integra in an unimpressed tone as he scanned my figure before him.

Once Integra replied in the affirmative, I took it upon myself to properly introduce my being to someone I had disliked intensely for a while. Just as I had with Trinity, I shook hands with Maxwell while holding my tongue with a spiked leash. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," was all I could manage while avoiding something derogatory.

Nonetheless, Maxwell did not seem to have the same poise. "Yes," he slowly stated much as I would have expected a Montague to talk with a Capulet in conversation, "although I would not make up your mind completely just yet."

_Sorry to disappoint you, Sir, but I'm sticking firm to my assumption that you're a religiously elite piece of sh—_, I was able to stop myself in my thoughts before I cursed for a second time in the same time frame. I could hear Alucard chuckling in the background of my mental discussion.

"Well, I do believe we've covered all significant issues for the time being, so I think we will make haste, if it is pleasing to you, Hellsing," the man interjected abruptly.

"Do as you will, Maxwell; I am not your superior." I still believe Integra forgot to affix the words 'Catholic pig' to the end of her sentence.

So we parted, headed our separate ways back to headquarters in different directions. Even though the meeting was not that eventful from anyone's perspective, I still felt a bit drained from the experience. Call it emotional exhaustion, if you will. However, I suppose my reunion with Trinity and having to keep my head level when my heritage as a mutt with Italian blood caused me to want to bash in some teeth after calling someone a vulgar phrase in Italian. . . . well, it simply took the energy out of me.

My only relief was that training was over for that day.

**Nothing much happened for a while around the mansion**—night assignments, physical training, basic preparation as a soldier, practice in firearm-handling, eating, and sleeping pretty much summed up my day for too long of a time.

I found that not only Adrina Moretti was working in the Hellsing organization alongside me, but my best friend Danika Baveuse as well. We ran into each other—literally—one day during my switch from the shooting ranges to the Wild Geese's area, which led to some shrieking, hugging, laughing, and a bit of crying. That being said, it was Danika whom I consulted each day in the mess hall after our harsh days of fitness, and it was Danika who assured me that it would be okay in the end. Her soft appearance of deep, dirty blonde hair and creamy chocolate eyes matched her angelic personality completely. Honestly, I do not think I would have survived the monotonous schedule had it not been for Danika suffering right there with me.

The only other mildly exciting things that happened were my toning of upper arm and leg muscle, and the heightening of my attraction to Alucard. Yes, I hardly had a night alone, although there were occasional ones where I would fall directly asleep, in my tired, gunpowder-scented uniform, after dinner. The majority of the time, in contrast, Alucard would sneak up from behind me before starting casual conversation that sometimes became a bit personal.

He was a very interesting person, and even when we had run out of things to say or simply wanted to enjoy the peace together, the time spent was anything but boring. I knew that Adrina, Danika, Mr. Bernadotte, Seras, the soldiers, Walter—even Sir Integra—were beginning to sense something between us. They hardly ever said anything to my face concerning the issue, but the sly smiles in the hallways and chuckles at inside jokes about me only led me to believe they knew. Mr. Bernadotte did not improve in his vile feelings toward me either—in fact, they seemed to intensify. There was nothing I could do about it either, because to deny myself the reality of the situation would be pure folly.

However, despite the lack of stimulation I felt over what seemed to be an extended period of time, I did come to a point where I longed for the tedious days of yesteryear. Indeed, in one night, my life went from routine and dull to anything-but-ordinary and horrific. You may be wondering how. . . . let me explain from the beginning.


	9. What's In A Name?

_A/N: I apologize for the extremely large break between my posting and updating. I know I said it would take me a while, but all things considered, I did not think it would take me this long. I was loaded with schoolwork, and over the Christmas holiday, I had all four of my wisdom teeth pulled, so I wasn't functioning correctly (and didn't feel like it) for about a week. I'm still recovering, but I'm glad to say I'm nearing my recooperation._

_That being said, I finally have Chapter Nine up and running for all of my readers. It was a full 13 pages when I wrote it in WordPerfect, which is over three times the usual length of my chapters. I hope that you enjoy it, because I did work hard--and long--on trying to perfect and write it._

_I also want to thank every person who has reviewed my story so far, negatively or positively (although I'm happy to say the good definitely outweighs the bad). I'm sorry if I did not get back to you, but I have been so disoriented, I can honestly say it wasn't intentional. Thanks, everyone, so much! You really make my work enjoyable!_

**I can remember waking up to the blunt, rhythmic sound of something hitting against** wood, as well as a sharp pain above my temple. The sensation was throbbing and seemed to intensify each time I heard the thump, thump, thump, against the wood. It grew louder and louder as the agony grew stronger and stronger—the entire experience was maddening.

It took me not long to realize, however, that what was striking the wood was nothing other than my own skull.

I touched the aching spot near my forehead and felt something sticky and warm, and upon smelling its metallic scent, conceded it to be blood. I quenched a scream in my throat, and, trying not to panic, felt the world around me with quivering fingertips. It was hard, all of it, with flat planes and sharp edges constructed out of wood. It was also extremely claustrophobic, and if I moved my legs the slightest bit, I felt the smooth, cold object encasing my body rub against bare skin.

It was then it came to me: I was in a coffin. A cheap one, with no padding for my back—and if there ever used to be any, it was ripped clear off.

I tried pushing the lid from above me, but to no avail. It would not budge, and no matter how much I screamed, kicked, punched, or thrashed my limbs within the confinement, I was stuck within. That ineluctable fact was the root of my temporary insanity.

I was instantly reminded of that reoccurring dream, the one that seemed to serve as a prelude to my death. I saw the undefined face in my mind, and then I would wake up with my flesh coated in sweat. Only I knew this time, I would not wake up. I guess you could say _that_ is what made me begin to cry, loudly and without restraint. I did not want to accept death so soon. . . . I was too young, I thought, and I had not yet even began to live. I had just found someone who loved me back, or at least acted like it. I had waited too long for the moment where unrequited love no longer plagued me, and I was not willing in any way to let someone take that away from me.

. . . .Still, I could think of nothing else to do but cry.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar laugh in the near distance, a cackling voice I immediately recognized. "Frightened, Scarlett? All of that was just tough talk the other day, wasn't it?"

Trinity. . . . not only had she double crossed me, but now, she was going to kill me? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. I was so confused and queasy from the entire event that I could feel the bile creep up in my throat as my head became dizzy.

We hit a sharp bump at that moment, which rocked me in the coffin violently and caused my head to bash into a corner again, only much more painfully. I inhaled voicelessly, feeling the viscid blood ooze down my forehead and into my tearing eyes. Blinded and hurting, we continued to hit more potholes and uneven road until we came to an ominously peaceful stop.

I could barely hear the opening of a door on the vehicle above the pounding in my ears. Someone was pulling my coffin—no, simply the coffin I was in—near the origin of the metallic sound, then there was the grating unbuckling of the chains that imprisoned me inside the wooden structure. The person slid the lid off effortlessly, unlike I could previously, and exposed me to burning artificial light and Trinity's sickeningly amused face.

"Good evening," she snickered, and forced me out of the coffin with brute strength and with no concern to my bleeding forehead. I was so weak from the yelling and bloody bruises, I suppose I did not have the energy to stop her. Still, that did not coerce me to surrender or not put up a fight — I never was a rational person.

"You are very stubborn," she chuckled as she held me in a half nelson. "Just give up — you're not going to get away."

"The hell I'm not!" I tried kicking her in the shins, or headbutting her in the nose with the back of my skull, but nothing worked, and so I was left to my flailing of legs and cursing of her name and all Catholics. This caused laughter from her and her party, as I then realized Maxwell, Anderson, and Heinkel were watching my rabid display of emotion from beneath the dull lighting of an abandoned private school.

"Good work, Trinity," Maxwell smirked as he and his other dronies advanced toward us. The mere sight of that ugly face made me want to upchuck all over his pristine outfit. "Heinkel, help Trinity with Miss Cross . . . she seems to be giving us quite a hard time. Anderson — secure the room."

As to what he meant by that, I wondered in both bewilderment and frustration. . . . I only knew it couldn't be anything good. But alas, squirm, wriggle, and outcry as I may, I was no match for the eerily muscular Heinkel Wolfe and her less athletic but still challenging cohort, Trinity Westiguard. They succeeded in carrying me into a room similar to a boiler room, with thick pipes lining the ceiling, thinner conduits crawling up the walls, and a gigantic radiator near the far right. There was a cement chair bonded to metal pipelines waiting for me, and I was appropriately flung toward the seat aimlessly. As I tried to grasp balance and save my face from getting skinned, I scraped the palms of my hands and knees, also grazing my forearms as I felt the two women behind me force me to sit.

They shackled my wrists and my ankles with cold steel. I tried ripping the confinements from my limbs, but of course, a human is not that strong. I wrestled with my own anger and the sting of the blood and tears in my eyes. The enmity threw a wicked display of red across my squinting, crying eyes, and the sadness made my injuries and the situation agonizingly real. There aren't enough words in any language to truly explain the profound hostile yet distressed nature that overtook me. I felt as if I had been hypnotized and reduced to an uncouth, beastlike, sniffling, primitive version of a human being.

Of course, the laughter and the smiles and the unspeakable conceit that permeated the room with its noxious invisible fumes did nothing to ease the monster growing out of my pain and sorrow. Heinkel and Trinity's faces both distorted rabidly, leaving my crimson-coated eyes with a view of nothing more than demons. Demons in the forms of religious followers bent on bringing justice to the world—but who really only desire the destruction of mankind.

My thoughts of indignance and bias were left unheard, however. The darkness within crippled even the simplest body functions . . . I soon wondered if I was still breathing. My muscles were painfully contracted, my watery eyes narrow and brooding, my mouth virtually sewn shut and reducing words to a growl. I hated them, I truly did, and I sought to somehow inflict upon them the exact feelings I experienced at that moment.

"Hellsing brats aren't much to brag about when they're tied down, are they?" Trinity dared mock me, although she did not receive an answer as she most likely anticipated. I simply sat there, my eyes glaring, with dark thoughts running through my mind.

There was a knock at the thick metal door leading into the boiler room. "Is she bound?" It was Maxwell.

"Yes, Father," Trinity answered with a repulsive smirk as Heinkel opened the door and revealed the man for whom I held the most vicious of feelings. The bastard had ordered my former friend to capture me, and now, they had me chained to a chair late at night as some kind of sick plot. I wouldn't mind—I thought—if Alucard immediately showed up and ripped the lot of these Catholics to bloody, unidentifiable little shreds. In fact, I wouldn't mind if he shot them a few thousand times . . . I wouldn't even care if I left that place with their blood literally on my hands.

Maxwell inched toward me with his simper of godly superiority—I suppose since his servants just put me in irons, he felt his gelatine equivalent of a backbone wasn't in danger of becoming torn. He edged his face about a foot away from mine, which was too close for any remaining comfort. I felt like spitting in his face and having the wad of saliva hit his eyes so he wouldn't be able to wash my "disease" out.

"Perhaps you will think twice before insulting the Vatican again, young lady," he murmured. He then reached out a hand and grasped my chin much like a teacher would in order to obtain an unruly student's attention. The lying, hypocritical essence seeped from his glove and gnawed at my skin.

"I can't let you go unpunished, however," he continued, his face lighting up more than a redneck's front lawn all through summer, the Christmas decorations still aglow. "Trinity will show you exactly what I mean, I assure you."

"Fuck you."

Those were the last words I managed for the rest of the night, for I was too consumed in the throes of Trinity's "retribution" to utter anything but gasps for air, grunts, whimpers, sniffles, and sobs, along with the occasional shrill scream that echoed a terrifying horror movie.

Then again, I don't think I would want Maxwell to remember me by any other words.

**After Maxwell fled the room, I was left alone with Trinity and Heinkel, a pair** **from** Iscariot of whom I was not at all fond. Trinity proceeded to walk angrily over to me and slap me in the face for talking to Father Maxwell in such a way, and I must say she hit hard. I could feel my cheek beginning to turn a bright red with the shape of her hand. It smarted uncomfortably, and the excess saliva that spattered on my face from her close range of ranting did nothing to soothe me further.

I wanted to tell Trinity that they would find me. That someone would walk into my quarters back at "home"—I was surprised I now called it by such a name—and see that someone had broke in and stolen me away. Maybe Walter would check in for some sort, simply doing as he should as a genial butler, and find my sheets in disarray and bed empty. Or perhaps Seras would come visit me for some reason, seeing as we were very friendly with each other and had been spending a little time together—we trained under the same man, after all. Or Danika might have felt the urge to see me. We were best friends in high school . . . actually, we went back to sixth grade.

Someone had to find that I was missing . . . Alucard! I wondered how he slipped my mind, and then I remembered our recent disagreement. Everything was fine and dandy for a while, as things usually go, but shortly ago I became outraged by him. I remembered storming away for some reason and crying harshly—then refusing to accept his apology later. But I couldn't recall why I had been so fervent in my contempt now, sitting there in that cold, hard, chafing chair, constricted of all movement. I tried racking my memory for some salvageable evidence as to my actions of rage, sorrow, and pain, but nothing surfaced.

I was sitting there, doomed to torture unparalleled when compared to any other sensation I had ever experienced before in all of my humanity, and the one person I knew could save me wasn't on good terms at the moment. I felt like having Trinity stab me in the hand for that; I had been so selfish and rash to not accept his repentance. How stupid!

I believe it was then, after realizing that Alucard wouldn't be coming to deliver me from the Iscariot's evil minds—he wouldn't even see that I was gone, because I had told him that I wanted nothing at all to do with him over something so trivial. It was at that moment that my anger at the Iscariot seemed to evanesce and simply flee from my mind as self-loathing and an overwhelming wave of true fear washed over me. My muscles locked, my breathing shallowed, and for what felt like the first time, I was truly terrified to the point of hysteria. If I was provoked even the slightest bit, I knew I would start screaming and crying . . . the end was simply too near, and it was as if my lowly human instincts were all that was truly left of me.

"I don't see how she causes so many problems, she looks so weak," I heard Heinkel talking to Trinity about me, both of them watching me intently yet with obvious repugnance.

"She _is_ weak, but so are Hellsing's defenses," Trinity explained matter-of-factly with a smug look. "You remember how easy it was to break into her room."

"Yes, I do. The only thing mildly troublesome was lugging that deadweight."

I was so busy fueling my cold sweat with more pessimistic thoughts and visions that my disdain of the two women talking about me and my organization as if I did not exist did not faze me; it was even more aggravating than the backbiting I'm positive they committed against me.

"Speaking of the girl, are you ready over there?" Heinkel called over to where I sat with my jaw locked in a bitter set. As to prevent myself from acting in lunacy, I did not answer her, and I suppose she took that as an initiative to approach me. "Are you too good to speak to me?"

I was still silent. I had nothing to say to the likes of Heinkel or Trinity . . . well, that isn't completely true, but anything I wanted to say is most likely too graphic for me to print here.

"Don't mind her. Protestants are actually as talkative—and bright—as a handicapped child when you've got them in their appropriate place."

I was thinking those same words I'd given Maxwell for Trinity right now, adding a few more profanities and some other vulgar phrases. I could barely stand to sit there anymore, with the negative energy flowing through me acting like a magnet to the dark red shrouding my vision. I wanted to snap the two of them to pieces . . . but more importantly, I wanted to allow myself to cry for the first time since my father went to war. The melancholy was insurmountable, and equally dangerous to my health—I felt weak from the stress, and even weaker with my defenses torn from me.

_I'm sorry for anything I've ever done that was sinful in any way_, I thought to my God, even though He was technically the same one the Catholics were trying to justify. _Please God just let me go home. Please God._

The weight of a bullet fired from Heinkel's gun ripping through the skin of my shoulder interfered with my helpless pleading. My muscle tingled where the bullet was lodged, and I felt the tears suppressed for what felt like ten years well up behind my brown eyes. The pain was unbearable, with a sick throbbing that pulsated through my mind like a human's heartbeat through a monster's. The sight of my blood swelling from the wound and staining my green tank top made it that much more agonizing.

It was clear to me then, even more clear than it had been before, that I was acting under a malediction. They would spare no mercy, and almost go against one of the most important Ten Commandments—_Thou shalt not kill_. I was cursed from the day I entered London, and would continue to be damned without feasible reason until I escaped or died—whichever came sooner.

It had to be death, because I knew I was dead. I could feel it in my bones. I could feel it before another shot impaled the shin of my left leg, the agony rearing its ugly head through my remaining sanity—such a thing only helped support my newfound notion. I could feel it as the metallic scent of my own body fluid permeated the room, and course in bold lines down my bare leg.

I _knew _I was dead when Trinity stuck the needle's metal deep into the underside of my forearm, into the thick blue vein showing eerily clearly through my pale, thin skin. I watched wordlessly as she extracted my blood that held a shocking bright crimson hue. I concentrated my attention on the ringing in my ears rather than the burn of the withdrawal. Sooner than I realized, the needle was out of my arm, with a fresh blot of blood beginning to clot on my arm. It was just as soon that another syringe stabbed into the same place, already filled with blood that she ejected into the soreness.

The experience was odd, which is what makes it so memorable I suppose. I could swear the blood was darker than my own, and my veins literally ached as I felt something _cold_ being forced into my lively flow. My head began to feel heavy, and the boiler room around me rattled and swerved to the pounding replacing the buzzing in my ears. The stinging concentrated in the three areas of my body intensified as all other things cancelled out, and I suddenly found myself becoming numb.

"You do not deserve, but you will sleep momentarily, Scarlett," I managed to hear Trinity's blurred words through the rhythm-less noise. She handed the syringe to Heinkel, and both of them retired to the side of the room to observe me as the scenery blended to blue, then orange, and finally black.

**I woke earlier than I would have fancied, but I suppose it was inevitable that I would find** nothing enjoyable while being incarcerated in a smoldering room with Catholics. The room seemed brighter, with the many pipes lining the walls more distinct. I noticed cracks in the walls that had previously been unseen rather easily. I also felt colder, much colder, but it was not unendurable . . . it felt almost normal.

Then, I realized something that drew the breath back into my throat bitterly and gave birth to a shrill scream that I would later expose to Iscariot in fear. As I sat there, my chest had no movement, my heart was not heard at my temples though I was terrified, and I was sitting perfectly still. Just as Alucard and Seras. It hit me in anguish—I was no longer breathing, let alone alive.

So many questions bubbled in my curious brain, but my tongue was transfixed in my mouth as it had been since I was strapped into the cement chair. What had they done to me? Why? Would I ever recover? Was that even possible? Was I dreaming? Would I ever see Alucard again. . . .? My mind was so overwhelmed with my own frightened thoughts that I didn't even feel the tormenting sensations surrounding my wrists and ankles until I looked down at my skin dissolving beneath the shackles.

Once I had my revelation, and began seeing the dark brown color of my skin, I knew I was burned beyond a minor injury. I could not feel pain in my ankles or wrists, but the charring black color reminded me of the video I was once shown back in school in Heath Class. A kid had went off with his divorced father one weekend, who had promised to go to Disneyland. The father gave the kid some sleeping pills . . . he was going to burn the hotel room down, with his son and himself . . . but he backed out in the last minute. After spraying his own child with gasoline, he lit a match . . . and ran.

I couldn't remember the name of the movie, but I remembered the scenes of the child in the hospital, then when he looked into the mirror at the scarred skin that deformed his face, and freaked out at the "monster" replacing his reflection. Even though I could not feel my own wounds, tears began to surface in my eyes. I did not want to imagine the pain that child must have gone through . . . it made me sick, and it made my whole body ache at the same time.

I knew, even though that kid sued his father and had a restraining order placed upon him, that he would forever be tainted. Even though he was a small-time movie producer now, and had a wife and kids, he would always remember that horrific day. I wanted to turn back time myself and save that kid from the hotel room, while he was sleeping, before he was burned. I wanted to somehow give him the normal life he deserved, that we all deserve, so much. I didn't want to see anyone suffer . . . not even someone I would never know. . . .

"Why aren't you screaming?" Trinity interrupted my bawling and brooding. Oh, how I wanted so badly to send her back to her home in "our" world. She was better there.

"I thought you said the pain would be excruciating for her," she asked Heinkel, who slunk close to me to examine the throes going without a voice.

"I think the burns are too deep. They've damaged her nerves," she explained, and I knew then that those were definitely third-degree burns. There was going to be scarring.

That seemed to alleviate Trinity's worries. I could picture her thoughts—_Good, she is still in pain. The Protestant deserves it for simply being a Protestant, and a Hellsing member_. I could not begin to fathom why the Catholics thought they were so dissimilar from Protestants—we were after almost the same thing—their views of righteousness have just become a bit distorted.

"I think you should do it now, Westiguard," Heinkel whispered to Trinity, receiving an affirmative gesture. I did not wonder for long what it was they discussed; I knew whatever they had planned would only mean more discomfort to me.

I watched indifferently as Trinity rummaged through her jacket pocket, not really interested any longer in what sort of affliction they forced upon me. The bullets singed, lodged in my muscles and bones, and the scrapes on my hands and knees were practically painless when compared to my other ailments. My forehead's wound had long stopped bleeding, but I knew I would have a nasty bruise later on. But the most extreme of injuries, it appeared, were lacking in the structure to cause physical irritation to me. My wrists and ankles continued to blacken, yet I felt no sensation at all.

I knew I would pay for it later.

Trinity pulled out a large cross, formal and standardized, with straight edges and arms that were absolutely angular and without flare. It was a cross you would see flipping through a history book, depicting only the basics of Christianity—elementary, unoriginal, safe. The only difference was **Vatican, Iscariot Section XIII** was etched across the horizontal arms in small, bold-faced print in all caps.

It was something I would expect of these types of Catholics—they were unlike the ones I knew back home, when I was living with my genetic family . . . the ones that were my best of friends. These ones would not tolerate anyone opposed to their views and would not deviate even slightly from a perfectly molded picture of Christians—that might make them heretics, like Protestants. Of course, putting their names on something holy did not seem to desecrate the symbol . . . in their minds, it probably just added justification.

"Scarlett Cross," Trinity murmured, her voice distant with resonations of a far-away place. "What's in a name? Such a famous line, though I do not think Shakespeare considered your particular name when he developed that philosophy."

I was confused, not knowing if I wanted her to continue—the want was needless, for she did not give me further explanation. She simply lurched near me, stopping when she reached my knees. Heinkel was at my side, and with a quick nod from Trinity, she took my button-down, grey-and-violet nightshirt and hastily unfastened down to my navel. She spread apart my collar, giving Trinity and herself full-view of my chest. The shirt covering my breasts moved to expose everything, and leaving me nothing to grasp onto in hopes of retaining my dignity.

I had a sudden morbid thought that maybe the Vatican had some odd fetish for torturing girls before molesting them, but that idea was swiftly cancelled out by the shining cross making contact with my ivory skin.

"It's time for silver to allow you living up to your name, Scarlett," Trinity grinned ecstatically. She pressed the cross down hard against the flesh of my breastplate, an inch below my clavicle and a few inches above the nipple of my right breast. The burning was unimaginable all the way up until the numbness generated around my ankles and wrists seeped into my new wound.

Two things clicked in my head—_silver_, as Trinity had briefly mentioned, and the bold inscribing on the cross. Silver, I realized, was what the shackles must have been made out of . . . which only meant I was a vampire. As unsettling as that thought was, I also conceived that the Vatican had put their name onto that cross for branding purposes—they were treating me like worthless cattle . . . like I _belonged_ to them.

That being said, it was not the traumatic pain I was put through that evoked that blood-curdling scream I mentioned earlier. It was knowing that I would forever bare the name of my worst enemies on my body, and that they had defeated me, and left me tainted for my organization . . . I would have to face Sir Integra, if I ever did again, with Iscariot's name sprawled across my breast.

It was that recognition that kicked the yell from my throat and propelled it at lightning speed throughout the private school. . . .

* * *

**Before you begin to wonder, this is not Scarlett. **

I am Mirabelle Fairchild, daughter of Gregory Fairchild, a faithful UN member until the day he died. I am one of Hellsing's top spies, and it has been my duty for quite some time to infiltrate Iscariot and deceive its people by acting as one of their own.

That is exactly what I am doing.

It was early one morning in July when I heard a sharp, cracking echo through the former headmaster's office at the private school Father Maxwell had stationed us for that night. Having been informed only seconds prior that Scarlett was being held captive in the boiler room, I could only assume it was her own. Even though I did not keep a well-known tie with Hellsing, word also got around to myself about her growing reputation as a private-slash-wonder for Sir, and I felt sympathy for the girl. One can only imagine what she was going through to have a voice so infused with pain.

Knowing my duties, I did not hesitate to snatch the receiver from the nineteenth-century phone placed on the left corner of the mahogany desk. I had the number memorized, so it only took me seconds to reach Sir.

"Yes?" I heard her tired voice through the scratchy receiver.

"They have Stuntman," was all I had to say—it was more reasonable for me to use nicknames or code-names when speaking to Integra.

"What?" she did not sound pleased.

"Do not go look in her room; I just heard her screams through the halls seconds ago. I was informed that they've captured her moments ago."

"Where are you?"

"We're just out of Sheffield, near The Peaks. I know it's a bit out of the way, but I'm sure it was planned such. It's a small town, with an abandoned private school—that is precisely where we are. I wasn't given exact coordinates."

". . . .How long have you been out there?"

"We took a helicopter from London, and then, as I was told, Stuntman was transported by van—so I would say a few hours. I have no idea what they've done to her, however."

"All right. How many are there?"

"Four. Father came, as well as three of his minions, and myself."

"I'll send help immediately. Don't let them leave." I heard the line disconnect.

I sighed heavily. It was very early, and I knew any time that Hellsing took to reach here, even though she would be working as fast as possible, counted against poor Scarlett. I was only grateful for the bright moon still hanging in the sky that I saw through the small window to my left. _He_ would be coming, and that meant salvation for Scarlett . . . if he did not shoot her as recklessly as he did the police girl.

All I had left to do at that point was wait.

* * *

**She removed my shining, metallic branding iron as soon as I shrieked the second time.** I felt blood running down my face, splotching my bare chest with the deep red, thick, coagulated essence that now replaced my salty tears. That fact made me weep harder, yearning vainly for my simple human life back in the United States, living ignorantly of the troubles of the world.

I wanted to be that innocent fourteen-year-old, unscathed by boyfriends, unscarred by losing a loved one to something so unpredictable. I wanted to be young again, and have my loving father in my arms forever. I would never let him go, in fear of losing him to what I was experiencing at that moment. We could stop time, and press play when I was old enough to be mature, and he was old enough to stay by my mother's side in the U.S.

I wanted my mother. I wanted her irreplaceable love, her angelic face and beautiful soul. I wanted her soft touch and mother's wise words, and the good advice I knew was right but couldn't stand to hear. I wanted her to lecture me on boys and tell me they weren't worth my time. I wanted her to yell at me for being irresponsible. I just wanted her there, beside me, allowing me a shoulder to cry on and someone to accept me for the monster I've become.

I wanted to hug my little sister, the glorious little girl whom I loved more than all the galaxies combined, and would protect with my life. I wanted to be there when times were hard to tell her everything would be all right. I wanted to be that reassuring voice when my mother's seemed insignificant and too old to possibly remember what it was to be teenager. I wanted my baby sister, I wanted my purpose for life. I wanted to know that when I went to sleep that night, there was someone waiting to learn from my mistakes and try to be like me, even though I was imperfect.

I wanted my family, my soul, my life, my only reason for anything I did. I wanted the simplicity of a normal human, not the complicated havoc my former longings caused me. I had been such a fool, and now I was paying the cost for the extremity of my secret desire.

I couldn't hold back the tears now. The constant reminder of all I've lost, and the way that what little I'd gained paled in comparison, made each of my wounds, even the burns, begin to smart uncontrollably. Nothing hurt more, nothing ever would. My heart was breaking, but the blood was cold and completely clotted, unable to drip from the many shards. So it collected in my chest, a large bruise pushing at my ribs and pressuring my lungs. I was so far from any rectitude, lost in the darkness created in the depths of my foolish mind.

All I could think was, _Why, my Lord, have you foresaken me?_ That, and _I am sorry._

Then, I heard a loud bang outside the boiler room's metal door, then deafening gunshots and the crumpling of steel. The door swung open, and I saw Anderson preoccupied with countless Hellsing soldiers, and Seras with her cannon. Hope rippled through me. I was being forgiven.

I knew it for sure when I saw him. There was no smile upon his lips, but he had his guns in his hands, completely contrasting one another. His perfect crimson trench coat paled in the intense lighting, and his face was hidden in the dark shadow of his hat. The dull thud originating at the soles of his boots was the most beautiful sound I had heard in what felt like forever. He approached me, repelling Heinkel and Trinity from the room to leave me alone with him.

He stood before me and cast a shadow upon my entire being. I told myself to be strong, but all I did was cry. I cried as he unlocked the shackles without effort, and I cried as he grabbed my waist and heaved me into his arms. I cried as he trotted to the helicopter, and I cried as Integra confirmed I was . . . in existence. I cried harder as Iscariot got away, but I knew they would be caught eventually . . . and I would not shed a bit of reluctance toward harming Trinity or Heinkel.

I was placed into a seat away from the door in the helicopter, and I listened with only half-consciousness to his voice. Integra was in the front next to the pilot, wordless and tense, but he sat beside me with unmoving lips that spoke a thousand words. I could hear him within my mind, speaking to me nicely as he read my million apologies and gratitude, for my own mouth was only capable of soft whimpers and the occasional shallow breathing (though it wasn't necessary while my lungs were dead). It was as if our fight had never existed. There was only the present, with the past forgotten and excused.

_You're all right now. Just sleep_, he kept repeating. The tears still flowed down my cheeks, a steady river that began running thinner and clearer as I began calming. I could feel my heartbeat picking up again, and blood began pushing at my cold skin from within my veins. All systems go, no matter the reason, I drifted to sleep.


	10. Unknown Diagnosis

_**A/N:** I'm very sorry I took so long once more updating this fanfiction. I truly, truly tried to work on this chapter as much as I could, but it seems teachers assume that if you take Honors classes you obviously must not have a life outside of school. If I can, I will work on Chapter Eleven quickly so I can also post that one sooner than this chapter, but I can't guarantee anything. Anyway, thank you to those who continue to read. I assure you, this would not be written had it not been for your interest. Enjoy!_

**The next thing I remember is waking up to a deep hushed voice and that of Sir Integra.** I had difficulty breathing; my skin felt hot; my arms, legs, and chest felt like they weighed a thousand pounds each, and I could feel a bandage on my forehead near my temple. The boxy, unfluffed nature of the pillow, and the freshly-starched, generic feel of the blankets beneath me lit up the bulb in my brain confirming that I was in a hospital bed. When I peeked slightly through barely opened eyes, I saw the lights were dulled and eerily metallic, but I suppose it was only scary due to my irrational fear of hospitals and doctors. The buildings were never a happy place, and the doctors had the choice of screwing up your life—or ending it—permanently, if they felt the need to do so.

Getting back to reality before I had a spasm in front of Integra, I realized that everything hurt—worse than it had started. I believe I had gotten used to that pain when it was constantly being inflicted upon me, but the agony in Hellsing's hospital wing was a completely different feeling. I felt decontaminated but dirty at the same time; I was probably clean of anything that could cause infection, but I still had who-knows-whose blood coursing through me. I was also sweating profusely, which made me very irritable—I hate sweat.

I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself, but I felt too disgusting to be solaced, and I grew excessively curious while seeing only black. I knew I was dead for quite some time at the private school, but I could hear a heart monitor beeping ever-steadily. How could that be, I wondered. . . .?

I eased open my eyes to see the horrendous sight before me. I had bandages wrapped around my right shoulder that extended across my chest, although my breasts had their own protective dressing as well. My arms were bandaged from my fingers to the middle of my forearm, and although I couldn't see well from my sitting position, my left leg appeared to be wrapped in sterile whiteness. My ankles felt weighty, so I knew they had taken care of those wounds.

An IV was rammed into the bright blue vein that served Trinity her purposes of torment. I saw the wires connecting me and the heart monitor, and I could tell by the feeling I had those odd-looking tubes in my nostrils. There were cold compresses where the burns were, too, although I still couldn't feel them.

I felt like screeching. I looked like I deserved to be in the emergency room . . . that, or dead. They should've just given me a full body cast; I looked like a train wreck, anyway.

". . .Know what happened?" I suddenly tuned into the conversation between Sir Integra and whom I inferred to be a doctor. It was the raspy voice asking the question, sounding as if he was taking notes.

"I'm not sure exactly. She was kidnapped, after all; I was not there to accompany her," Integra sounded aggravated. The pit of my stomach jerked upwards a little—I was the cause of this irritation, most likely. "Precisely how badly is she hurt?"

The doctor took a deep breath. "The few minor injuries she has are a pair of skinned palms and knees. The rest of her wounds were extensive. She has a contusion and cut above her left temple, which leads to a possible concussion.

"She's acquired several third degree burns, almost all of which are over crucial joints. They've definitely damaged her nerve endings—the burns almost reached her muscles. We've also discovered two bullets. One was lodged into her tibia and has given her a shin splint, and the other has lacerated her deltoid."

Next, I heard the man sigh. "The Vatican has truly outdone itself this time. This girl is very lucky to be alive . . . though barely."

There was a break in their conversation that made me think I had slipped back into slumber, but then I heard Integra speaking. "What do you mean, 'barely?' When we recovered her, she was a vampire."

"Well, she's not now. After all, the heart monitor's in check."

His excuses did not seem to satiate Integra's thirst for opposition. "Did you run blood tests on her yet? I'm positive you'll find traces of unnecessary coagulation."

"We did take a CT scan to focus on any blood vessels and arteries, but our radiologist hasn't sent the results back to us at this moment." He sounded thoughtful for a moment, but his next words were unusually nonchalant. "If she does have clots, this could cause major health problems . . . and would most likely make her more susceptible to bleeding to death if we treat her."

I felt my fingers go numb at the sound of the words. The doctor talked about possible mortality on my part with harsh detachment; I suppose constantly being exposed to death on a daily basis (and I'm sure he had numerous soldiers die on the operation table) would make someone calloused, but I wasn't used to it. I wasn't used to any of this—this simply didn't happen where I came from. New Jersey was so peaceful . . . even with the outrageous property taxes.

_I never would have thought I would miss the vacant streets, deteriorating school buildings, housing developments, and what was left of wide open spaces as much as I do right now_, I thought in a mental whisper, remembering the "highlights" of small South Jersey towns. _My mother was right: simplicity is bliss_.

Suddenly, I heard the wooden door at the other end of the room open, and I tried to see without opening my eyes more than a squint. It was a male nurse, and he was talking to the doctor in a hushed voice. I heard him mention that the CT scan results were in and should be reviewed immediately. I hoped in vain that nothing abnormal would show up, but I knew I definitely wasn't human last night . . . or was it a week ago. . .? I didn't know. . . .

The surgeon and nurse promptly left the room, leaving me alone with Sir Integra beneath the odd lighting. I felt the atmosphere darken and heard the air become void of noise (minus the annoying beeping of the heart monitor), which made me uneasy in my bed. She must have still though I was sleeping, so I tried to act unconscious.

My heart's rate spiked when I heard her voice. "I know you were listening; you don't have to pretend to be asleep." I opened my eyes, chagrin probably casting a pink stain across my cheeks. Why on Earth did I think I could fool someone who has learned to detect a quiet, stealthy vampire in mere seconds?

I decided to look at her, regardless—anything else simply would have been rude. "Sir? How long have I been out?"

"Only two days," Sir Integra exhaled in what sounded to be apathy. "You woke much earlier than what was to be expected."

That explained why I was still so very sore. I didn't dwell on that thought, however, for something else had been bother me ever since I woke. I was hesitant to ask, but knowing it would eat at me until I did, I worked up the courage. "How has Alucard been?"

She didn't utter a word at first, just an exasperated sigh. Sir Integra leant back slightly in her artificially-fabricated chair at the right side of the room. "You'll have to take that up with him."

Guilt washed over me as if it belonged to the Atlantic Ocean, saturated in burning sea salt scathing not my burns, cuts, or broken bones, but my heart. She wouldn't give me an exact answer, which made me think the worse was still in effect: he was anger toward me for being so obstinate had yet to subside. I did not blame him for such things—I was bitterly at odds with _myself_—butI wanted desperately for him to forgive me. Probably too desperate was this desire, but I already knew he'd seduced me so expertly that I was irrevocably in love with him. This longing was something I could not control—it was a side effect of his unfair dominance over me.

It scared me to think what I would have to do if my pigheadedness proved to be the end of whatever relationship I could have had with him. I did not want to end up like Bella Swan from _New Moon_, who lost her only love, Edward Cullen, a vampire, when their complicated relationship proved to be dangerous to her health. Edward broke Bella's heart, and she wandered aimlessly through life for many months, unable to find a reason to go on. Even after that, she had irrational yearnings to hear his voice in her mind that were only conjured when she put herself in harm's way.

No, I did not want to end up stripped of all purpose of life because of Alucard—after all, my true reason for existence, my family, was no longer on the same planet as me. It seemed I had nothing truly to live for, but for some strange reason, I_ did_ wake up every morning. Maybe I thought I would someday find my way back to where I belonged.

To have hope at all, at this point, seemed futile.

_I wonder if he's listening to me right now_, I thought in what felt like vain wistfulness. I had told him not to spy on me—oh, how I wished he would disobey me. I asked Sir Integra of the time, and when she told me it was a bit after midnight, I knew he would be able to hear me—if that was what he wanted, at least.

I began begging in my mind, calling his name. I waited, but upon hearing no answer, I fixed genuine apologies to the end of my outcries.

Again I waited, but I heard nothing. I waited a little longer—still, nothing. My vision blurred as my own salty mess teetered on the rims of my eyes, spilling over the edge and dripping down my hot cheeks. I would not want to overreact if it was still daylight, but Sir Integra had already confirmed it was of normal vampiric awakening hours. I knew she wouldn't lie to me, but the unfamiliar feeling of having someone knock the wind out of me just about made me have a breakdown right in front of my superior.

He was awake, but he was ignoring me. I knew he was here, at the mansion, or Sir Integra would be in her office—he just didn't want anything to do with me. He was my savior, but probably only under his Master's orders. He hadn't seemed happy when he had salvaged my pathetic excuse for a human, I recalled . . . he had a pained look upon his flawless face. Even in the helicopter, when he tried comforting me, the sound in his voice wasn't normal—it still held aggravation.

Thinking such things, and feeling the intense humiliation and anguish that my heart forced upon me, convinced me that some part of me was still human. It couldn't hurt this much if I was dead.

The surgeon stepped back into the room just then, interrupting my melancholy recognition of reality. His worried eyes set upon my figure, but I lied and told him that my body ached. Well, I suppose it wasn't a lie, but I knew he was thinking I was in pain for a completely different reason than emotional peril.

"Well, Miss Cross, some of that discomfort is probably due to the blood clots we've found in your system," he informed me, as if that would make me feel any better.

I tried to act surprised to cover up the crack in my voice, but my attempts were fruitless. "Blood clots?"

"Yes. You have a case of superficial thrombosis. However, deep vein thrombosis, or DVT, is also an issue. The clots that we found in your legs will need to be treated."

"So you did find traces," Sir Integra interjected smugly. "I said you would."

"Yes, you did, Sir," he agreed, looking from her back to me. "DVT can be solved very simply and without much pain. We just have to give you an intravenous injection of herapin. This will thin your blood, making it harder for clots to form.

"The downside to this treatment," he continued to explain to me, "is that it will also prolong the time it takes for you to stop bleeding if you are cut, and you will probably bruise more easily. Caution has to emphasized in your case."

_Greaat,_ I could not help but think. I had a very bad habit of knocking into objects or people accidentally, tripping over my own feet, falling up stairs (as embarrassingly possible as that is), and absorbing too much of the kick when I fired a gun. I often found small bruises that looked days old when inspecting my body, and I've even discovered cuts without memory or explanation of the cause. I wasn't a huge klutz, but I was formidable in a glass room or a museum filled with valuable artifacts. I liked to think it was inherited, for my family had a long line of clumsiness on my mother's side.

Of course, the remedy for the Iscariot-inflicted malady I had contracted required a hindrance of my ineptitude, for the consequences will undoubtedly be more severe. Somehow, I had to find a way to master the art of feminine elegance that I admired in all women of the early 1900s, and I had very little time handed to me.

I could already see the headlines in the newspaper: _Girl Stumbles, Bruised to Death_. It's amazing that I managed to hide the excitement.

* * *

**I took a nap for a few hours after the surgeon and Sir Integra left.** I woke up with a rubber band just above my elbow and a syringe stuck in my arm, with the entire metal point unable to be seen. I had a brief lapse of memory and thought I was reliving the Vatican nightmare, but upon screaming bloody murder, the surgeon tending to my syringe quickly calmed me. I then realized that the part of the needle inside me burned with the sensation the silver shackles had, but my doctor also assured me that mild stinging near the injection site was normal. 

I fell back into slumber for a few more hours, but my deep dreaming was interrupted by silent murmuring outside my hospital room's door. Any ordinary person probably could have ignored such chitchat, especially if they were engrossed in sleep, yet something strangely familiar roused me. Perhaps it was the immediately tranquilizing rumble of that deep voice I could recognize anywhere. Or maybe it was the way my heart fumbled when I heard his footsteps nearing my door. Or, possibly, it was knowing that the one person for whom I had yearned for what felt like ages was finally coming back to me.

Then again, it could have just been the guilt.

I watched intently as he pulled a chair beside my bed, casually mindful of my wires and newly acquired equipment. The intensity in his eyes scalded my soul and charred at the edges of my heart as we locked eyes for the first time in what felt like such a long time. There was still the expressionless mask plastered across a face that I could not think to be more perfect . . . the only exception would be that smoldering glint in his crimson eyes I found myself wanting for no feasible reason.

It was quiet at first; the only sound that registered to my human ears was the noisiness of my own breathing. My words evaded me in his gaze, and although I was rendered motionless, speechless—utterly helpless—the warm familiarity of his unjust hypnosis comforted me. Everything now was so different, anything similar to my life before my capture brought me solace.

_Say something, please_, I feebly constructed a phrase within my mind. I couldn't stand the awkward silence permeating the room; it was unfamiliar, unsolicited, and heartbreaking. I realized then how pathetically dependant I had grown of this vampire.

"What did they do to you?" he finally asked me, but no interest was held in his voice. That which was once held so lovely was now unnaturally cold.

Still, I swallowed painfully before replying as the memories I had managed to suppress to a monochromatic slide-show oozed with vivid, intimidating color. Fear cut me with its double-edged sword, slicing through my vocal cords until my voice was reduced to a faint, quivering humming. "They shot me, burned me, and infected me . . . all in one sitting."

"Your surgeon received the results of your blood test," he murmured. "The clots aren't yours."

"I know," I whispered, straining to escape his visual grasp of the sheet metal, hot coals, and garnet fragments melting in his irises. Such beauty should be illegal.

He fell silent, studying me. When his voice picked back up, it was oddly shameful. "Do you know whose blood it is that flows through your veins?"

No, I did not.

I sat there, wordless, as I pondered over the possibilities. There were plenty of night dwellers for the Vatican to pick from, but Alucard's tone was too expertly dissembled for me to tell to whom he was referring. I did not want to blow it out of proportion, so I did not consider the most obvious—which of course, would be him.

I did not see how the Vatican could acquire Seras's blood . . . they hadn't met often enough for such a larceny of bodily fluid. Maybe they took it from a vampire they simply met while on a killing spree . . . but that did not make sense to me, either. After all, the majority of "vampires" out there weren't actually vampires at all—they were freaks, with implanted chips to give them characteristics of a leech.

The feeling of death and animalistic behavior that had overwhelmed me after injected was too great to be caused by a phony.

That left me one other alternative. I tried to cast my vision in another direction, too afraid my eyes would reveal my frightened, brooding thoughts. However, still under his control, I had no choice but to stare at him, and unfortunately, my predictable human nature allowed him to read me like a second-grader's story book: too simply, too leisurely, and too indiscreetly.

"Is it. . . ." I could not force the syllable from my throat, fearful of his reaction. Nonetheless, such reluctance posed to be no interference to his perceptual ways—he knew what I was thinking all along.

**"Yes."**

If his heart had been beating, I'm positive I would have been able to hear its pulse skitter to a violent halt. The look upon his face was no longer unreadable or without expression—I had an immediate epiphany, though it was not as wonderful as a true revelation would prove to be. My epiphany granted me the sight to read the sickly sallow to his already pale face, with an emotional affliction resounding from his eyes. I would say he appeared scared, but he is too strong, intelligent, and wise to be such—he simply looked caught off-guard, and worried.

"What does this mean?" I could not help but ask.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, and a sigh fled from his lips. "You're still breathing and functioning as any human should be, but you have my blood within you.

"All the same," he continued, "you were not alive when I found you two days ago. You resembled Seras in the famished condition of a newborn fledgling."

"Well, if you don't know, I'm sure the surgeon can tell me no more," I exhaled in both frustrating befuddlement and empathy. It was indescribable, but the immensely unpleasant feeling Alucard was experiencing radiated out from him and caught against my own aura. Tears welled in my eyes simply from the potency.

"The only people who likely know are the Catholics," he agreed in exasperation. Alucard ran a gloved hand through his hair and rested one cheek against his palm. This was really getting to him . . . and made him act so oddly.

"Look on the bright side: I'm fine now."

"You phrased that incorrectly—you're fine _for_ now." I found myself trapped in cherry red eyes once more. "There's no telling what will happen, or if you will return to the same state as the one you were in when I found you."

"Nothing's going to happen," I tried lightening the mood, naively sure about my statement. "And if something does, I'm sure it is meant to . . . after all, everything occurs for a reason."

It was later on when I wished I hadn't spoken so soon, or so definitely. In actuality, the only thing I did not regret about my credulousness was I learned I was truly forgiven; if he seemed to care so extremely, there wasn't any way that he still held contempt for my contrarious conduct. We resorted back to our usual playfulness after I recovered, and all seemed well for quite some time.

As of all good things, however, Alucard's forgiveness and audacious flirtation proved to simply be the prologue to more emotional distress. More accurately, the calm before the storm.


	11. Reversions and Revelations

_A/N: Hi readers. I think I actually got this chapter up pretty quickly compared to the other recent additions!! Yay! Anyway, this chapter is a little longer, seeing as Scarlett has a few brooding moments, so I hope that's a good thing. Other than that I've got nothing to really say, so I'll let you read, and as always, I truly hope you enjoy._

**"Alucard?" I asked, trying to project my voice, yet it sounded so very far away.** "What happened?"

He looked at me somberly, his brilliant red eyes darkened to a concentrated maroon. The beautiful smile I had seen so often recently had faded to the all too familiar frustrated grimace, with his perfect lips bent down at the edges. He sat in a plain-looking wooden chair, with the back resting against a small round table I presumed to be where he . . . "dined."

"You had a relapse." It was stated simply enough, but I immediately felt my expression morph. It was my most famous—a young, frail deer caught in the headlights of a Mack truck zooming over the speed limit. No, I did not want to believe it, but as I dwelt on the incident more and more, painful memories of only a few minutes' prior soddened my mind with fright.

I was in my room, listening to Stevie Wonder on my MP3 player . . . relaxed, with all muscles free from tension . . . and the dazzling, melting vermillion sun was finally easing its way below the horizon. Blessed night would soon be upon me, with the ivory moon flaunting all of its opalescent facets from the crushed velvet sky above. I had grown to love the evening more intensely as I spent more time with a creature whose life was mainly lived beneath fading starlights and distant supernovas.

Lying on my back, with the mattress and sheets curving under my weight, singing along to one of my most favorite songs, "My Cherie Amour" . . . that was when the sharpest of aching impaled me and destroyed my sedated atmosphere. I could hear my heart racing faster, and faster, and faster, until it came to an abrupt stop that echoed hollowly at my temples. My chest felt like it had caved in, with my heart imploding vehemently inside of my rib-cage. My veins sang with the grating bubbling noise of bacon cooking in an oil-filled frying pan. The pain was equal to having someone splash every organ of my body with that exact oil.

A low growling resounded in my ears and cancelled out the soft melodies. Anger, hostility, and hunger emanated from the savage grumbling, and I was absolutely shaken to the marrow in my bones until I realized the growling was my own. I had torn the sheets beneath me to shreds, and among the rumbles of my voice were whimpers of pain that still contained the humanity I struggled to hold. My whole body was breaking into truncated versions of the whole, and some sort of beast inhabiting my soul was stirring up chaos.

All I could keep thinking was how my skin burned, muscles screamed, joints smarted, and bones blistered . . . that, and how unnaturally famished I suddenly became. . . .

. . . .The next thing I could think to happen was waking up to see Alucard's dejected countenance, in his dungeon room, sitting in his chair large enough to be considered a throne fit for a king . . . a No Life King, to be exact.

My physical throes had evanesced in my short period of rest, but the mental side-effects were crippling. I had relapsed, so very painfully. Did that mean there was a chance I would have to endure that maddening, excruciating anguish once more, against all will?

I touched my temples for a pulse just to make sure I was truly changed, and when I heard no thumping, I checked under my jaw as well. Nope—there was nothing. I doubled over to clutch my ribs as I felt myself going numb from the sheer anxiety that overwhelmed me.

_I did not choose this . . . I do not want this . . . why?! Why God, why have You neglected me? What have I done? I beg of You. . . ._ I prayed, though my voice was even cracking as I mentally communicated. Tears—tears that had I had become too adapted to shedding—began coating my straining eyes as I stared down at the floor. _Don't do this to me. Whatever it is, I am sorry. . . ._

"You can be very repetitive, Scarlett," I heard Alucard whisper, but I did not look up from grappling against my sides. I already knew I could be redundant, I just couldn't help praying every night that I would wake up and be back home, with everything back to the way it was meant to be.

**Until that day came, I would keep trying.**

I heard the opening of a large door in the background, Walter's voice exchanging casual conversation with Alucard, then the closing of a door with footsteps inching toward me. I could feel Alucard hovering above me as I stared at his glossy leather boots, not needing to speak a word. Just the proximity of his body was enough to force my eyes upward.

"I know you are starving," he spoke in confidence. I was directed to another chair opposite the end of the table he sat in before, and my focus immediately fell upon the shining, metal bucket filled with ice cubes and—dare I think it to myself—blood packets.

My stomach dropped to the tips of my toenails, smacking against the ground maliciously as it clicked in my mind what he was implying. Envisioning the blood, naturally thicker than water, oozing from an opening and down my throat made me want to upchuck onto the table before me. Cold, metallic blood . . . someone else's blood, icy and thick . . . I suppressed the urge to heave.

However, despite my efforts, my face must have turned a sickly green, for Alucard seemed to notice my nausea. "It's not going to taste at all how you think." He pushed the bucket toward me. "Now drink."

I sat immobilized in my chair. I pondered vaguely if this would count as disobedience. After all, I had never referred to him as such, but I supposed technically, Alucard was a superior of mine. It was _his_ blood that now coursed through me, fused with my own as I sat without a pulse, a breath, or a life within me. I wondered. . . .

"Why are you just sitting there?" He sounded furious now. I looked from the bucket to his face, distorted with vexation at my stubbornness again. Watching that familiar expression constricted my throat and stopped any noise my voice might try to register into the air. His anger frightened me.

I tried to speak, forcing my vocal chords to vibrate. "I . . . I don't . . . feel well," I scantily formed a sentence. My eyes managed to jolt away from his and to the many designs the grains of wood created in the table.

"There's nothing to fear," he sighed, though chafing was still evidence in his smooth, deep, intimidating yet glorious voice. "You're not going to injure yourself or convulse if you drink."

"I know," I whispered and fidgeted in my seat, "but I don't want to lose what's left of me. I don't want to let my family down . . . if I was ever to return to them, how could I face them if I go through this? It might not seem like a big deal to you, but I don't know, the foolish human still inside me sees it differently. . . ."

"How do you plan on going back to your family, Scarlett?" he asked, but I tried to act like I didn't hear the mockery in his tone. Every word of that made sense, because I was trapped in London, in a lifeless body ravenous for another human's blood, and as far as I knew, there was no retreat. If I could leave, wouldn't I have left already?

_Damn it_, I thought, knowing he was right once more. Why did he always have to be right about everything? Why couldn't I just have my ignorant bliss, my useless faith that my mother would be waiting for me back home on our front steps, in our yard crippled with winter weather, and I would get to see that again? That tomorrow, I could wake up and this would all be a dream that felt like a lifetime but was really only a few hours in length?

No, I was asking the wrong questions. I kept regressing into my other side that was engrossed in wistful, hopeless illusions. What I should be marveling over was how I was going to fare in the middle of a heated scene of bloodshed and gunshots, with my own unit crumbling around me. How would I react in such a situation of instant responses and sacrifices? How was I going to handle my own friends dying right in front of me. . . .?

"No one's told you yet, probably due to their beliefs in you realizing it yourself. Nonetheless, I'm going to inform you right now: there's very little chance you're going to see that sister of yours," I heard him speaking to me, and I felt my mental walls collapsing inward as his voice invaded my mind.

"Your mother and father should be filed away into memories. You're lucky you have friends from your past life here with you.

"Everything that has happened before the morning you woke up in your chambers here should either be forgotten or pushed aside. Dwelling is of no assistance to your already dwindling health. You're not going anywhere, Scarlett . . . are you listening to me?"

Uncontrollably, my brown irises met the glaring rubies in his own. Yes, I had heard every word, documented each syllable into my mental filing cabinet, although I refused to send my parents and sister into that drawer as well. Not even Alucard was going to convince me to let go of the reason I resisted a self-imposed end to what I guess you could call "life."

And it wasn't like I didn't have that option, or the opportunity.

"Getting back on track, I'm not really that hungry," I lied to the best of my abilities.

That attempt was hastily shot down. "Yes you are."

"Well, it really doesn't matter, anyway. I've gone days without eating before, and this surely isn't going to kill me." _As if anything truly will. . . ._

"Why can't you even give it a try?"

I had to think about that for a moment, and because of my bootless rummaging for an answer, Alucard was able to coerce me into taking one of the packets from the pail. I studied its contents for several moments, the medical blood cold even to my seemingly desensitized nerves. I observed Alucard open one of the tubes casually, as he undoubtedly had much practice, and forced myself to follow his example. Then, seeing him draw the tube to his mouth, and watching the blood being drained from the deflating, thick plastic packet. . . .

. . . .I dropped it immediately after placing my lips around the tip and clasped my hands over my mouth. I quickly slid back from the table and held my head between my knees to settle my stomach. If I had less self-control, I possibly would have spewed vomit across the dungeon floor, but I contained myself and tried to think of a happier place. Daisies, maybe, in a sunny meadow, with air filling my lungs and a heartbeat racing in my chest as I ran for no reason other than the pure joy of it . . . yes, that sounded pleasant. . . .

"A vampire put ill at ease with the mere thought of blood," I overheard Alucard thinking out loud to himself, followed by a deep exhale of unnecessary breath. "You are quite the paradox."

I sighed. "Sorry 'bout that."

* * *

**I underwent another gruesome relapse later that night,** near sunrise, only it was the inverse of what I had previously undergone. My heart began to accelerate in a speed of pumping that made me dizzy and nauseous; my skin pricked with heat again, scathing with an uncomfortable sting similar to rug burn. My head pounded, bones felt heavy, and my teeth chattered irrepressibly. I seized my sides and fell down, as I had been standing and talking with Alucard at the time.

Everything else happened so quickly that I did not even think back to it until I woke the next morning to captivating sunbeams glistening through my window.

Word had gotten around about my relapses as soon as I reached my training segment with the Wild Geese. The soldiers were already mumbling amongst themselves, with an occasionally brave man approaching me to ask of the verity of such a story. I did not deny it, knowing that I was an unconvincing liar, but that did not stop me from being mortified. I hated being reminded of the monster that consumed me.

Capt. Bernadotte was especially flagrant about his opinions on the matter, and he held no shame while acting so grossly smug about my mishap that I barely withstood the impulse to slap him. My entire session that day was almost totally concentrated on how he was right in his assumptions, and how I was proven so wrong that I should be spending every second rueful of my naivety. Yes, apparently, even if it had been the Vatican's doing, Alucard was indeed connected because it was his blood. He wasn't ashamed to have me refer to him as "Master" (especially after my obstinance the previous night), so that also meant he was looking forward to my change and would have gotten around to it eventually, anyway.

I was also a silly girl for believing a vampire could have a heart. After all, their hearts die after they become such infernal beasts of moonlight, so it was no use to keep emotional sensitivity if they did not choose to operate the organ in charge of such things. I should know that by now, though, seeing as I had joined the group—oh, how that topic sparked an entirely different but equally disinteresting and hugely grating, conceited monologue.

To be frank, I really did not like that man. I am surprised his head hadn't exploded from the pressure already—all of those inflated thoughts must be hell on the bone plates in his skull.

Thankfully, my day_ did_ lighten up. Regardless of my surgeon's warnings about reckless movement, I managed to run into an interpreter carrying a suitcase, most likely reporting for duty to his superior. My sudden collision caused him to let go of his grip, and everything from the suitcase spilled across the ground in a messy mass of documents, manilla folders, and a typewriter.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized with true sincerity I hoped didn't sound too staged. I had a habit of stretching my voice to an extent where even my most genuine of phrases sounded fake—then again, I did have a thing for being sarcastic sometimes, too.

"It's all right; I'm running late anyway," I could hear a smile in his clear, fluid voice.

"No, I should have been more careful. I'm supposed to be . . . doctor's orders," I barely explained, seeing as I didn't want to hold this guy up any more than I was already.

"Oh," he muttered. Then, he looked up to me with breathtaking eyes the same color of the sky in the middle of fall. His soft, shy smile curved his lips slightly upward at the tips, and his mahogany hair's bangs parted into perfect little strips across his forehead.

Either he was very cute, or hanging around Alucard had made me easily impressionable when it came to the opposite sex. Perhaps his deviance was wearing off on me. . . .

"Are you Scarlett Cross?" he asked me, reeling me back in from my winding sea of thoughts about my questionable behavior. His face lit up when I confirmed his guess. "Wow, you're quite the talk around here."

I peered down to hide my humiliation. "Yeah, I know."

"Hey, I'm sorry about what happened to you," he added, and I stopped dead in the middle of collecting papers and filing them into folders. That was the first time someone had told me that who wasn't one of my closer friends . . . everyone else either whispered among their own groups when I entered the room or told me exactly what they thought about me: I should leave now before my shame brings the whole organization down.

I think he sensed my surprise. "I mean, I have no idea what it must have felt like, but you didn't deserve it. No one does."

Wow, was this guy too good to be true or what? I wondered if this was some sort of new scheme to get in my pants . . . I can't begin to tell you how many times I've had that happen to me. I sort of wished I was ugly again sometimes, that way I could show up some place without a few guys hollering at me.

"Well, thank you, but I'm sure you have to get going." I handed him his folders and typewriter quickly—I realized I was running late as well.

"Right. I'll, er, see you later, Scarlett," he grinned with some chagrin.

"Sure . . . um, I don't think I ever asked your name."

"Berke." His smile lost its shame.

"Ciao, Berke."

* * *

**I met up with my friends later that day in the mess hall.** Of my former posse, there was Adrina, Danika, and the newly found Desdemona. I thought I had left Desdemona in my former life, which was bittersweet to think, but she was also damned to the diabolic life of a soldier bent on vampire-, ghoul-, and Catholic-slaying. Her cropped brown hair was as it had been, but her human ears were replaced with cute calico kitten ears, and a furry tail swayed behind her. She was still petite, and I was relieved to find her kind-hearted soul remained unscathed by our new lives as privates.

I told the girls of my clumsiness that caused me to meet Berke the Interpreter. Danika was kind enough to fill me in that Berke, Mitchells being his last name, was new around Hellsing, but like me, he was becoming quite frequent in conversation. Not for as good as reasons as I, however, very sadly. Apparently, other male soldiers (which basically meant everyone but, say, five people) teased Berke constantly about his sensitive and timid nature. Rumors had also been going around that he was gay, but Danika added that the gossip was most likely started to make him feel even more horribly.

"That's terrible," I stated while sipping another spoonful of whatever it was I'd been served. "He's a really sweet guy, from what I could tell."

"He is nice," Danika agreed, "but he's too quiet for the other guys to act normally around him. He's probably just nervous—I think it's his third day here."

I looked to Ross Lyndon, who recently started sitting at our table ever since he and Danika formed an intimate relationship. He was an English soldier with short, messy, spiky black hair and intense green eyes, along with nice lips and a trim figure. Ross didn't speak—or smile much, for that matter—but he was a relatively amiable person, and he was very good to Danika. I don't think I'd ever seen her smile as much as she did when she met Ross, and for that I was happy they'd found each other. That was also one of the only reasons I was happy to be in Hellsing's ensnarement.

"I've never met him," was all Ross told me in his glazed accent that could melt your skin right from your bones . . . that is, if I hadn't experienced the intensity of Alucard's vocal vibrations as often as I had. I suppose the vampire had made me biased when it came to whose voice slain me.

"I have heard about him, though. Sounds like a bit of a wimp," Ross continued after biting off a chunk of the roll in his hand. After chewing it over, he changed his course of conversation upon receiving the death glare from Danika. "But, I'm just repeating what the guys say."

"You had better be," Danika mumbled into her soup bowl.

I glanced around the mess hall absently, preoccupied with my thoughts of the kind boy I'd met earlier. Alucard might have thrown a fit if he was reading over my thoughts at that moment, being the jealousy-prone person he was, but I was too concerned about Berke to really pay attention. The poor guy, if only I could find him and tell him I knew how it felt to be an outcast . . . that's all I felt like for the many years I lived back home. Silly thing was, I longed to be back there, ridiculed behind my back, because I felt like this war lifestyle was too hectic for me.

It hadn't occurred to me until then how that hankering was pure folly.

Something along the outskirts of my peripheral vision caught my focus. Near where the traffic was finally diminishing from the food line was a large commotion and sudden congestion of people. The air in the mess hall filled with laughter, but I had a sick feeling in my belly that it wasn't something all that funny in which they derived amusement. I found it hard to concentration on the scene with the cackling all around me; my head was spinning, and my ears rang out deafly until my only option was to run to the source of entertainment myself.

I pushed the crowd from around me when I reached the traffic jam, which allowed me to encounter various profanities and name-callings at my rudeness. My feet skidded across the linoleum when I arrived at the center of the circle, and to my dismay, my pessimistic thoughts were reality: there, in the middle of the pandemonium, was Berke, sprawled across the floor with his food splattered everywhere.

I knelt down to his level with a hurt frown. "Berke, are you okay?"

"Nice going, klutzoid," I heard a loudmouth behind me interject as I watched Berke's already beet-red face deepen another sixty shades.

"Hey, leave him alone!" I whirled around, not really knowing who was commenting. "Everyone, go back to your tables! This crowd is unnecessary."

No one moved, so I got up and began shooing people away, getting the occasional evil eye and bitter scowl in return. A final group of men chuckling obnoxiously stayed in their place for a few moments once the herd of spectators had evanesced, and did not leave until submitting the last comment from Berke's cruel peers.

"You're real brave there, Mitchells," one guy snickered, "getting a girl to fight your battles for ya." He winked at me, "See you around, Stunt_wo_man."

I went back to Berke and lent him my hand to regain his footing. "Don't listen to them, Berke. They're a bunch of asses."

His jacket was soaked in the creamy soup broth, and tiny cooked veggies were intermingled in his hair and stuck to his clothing. My naturally motherly personality caused me to fluff the soup remnants from his limp, wet hair, although it was quite a challenge with my average height and his 6'3" frame. Berke brushed himself off, although it really didn't help alleviate his drenched condition. Nonetheless, I told him it was all right now and that I was clumsy myself . . . I even explained my incident with a pork roast and a salad caked in Italian dressing in one of South Jersey's most distinguished restaurants, all in an effort to cheer him up a bit.

When we reached my table, everyone was staring at Berke and I oddly. I looked him over, seeing that he really didn't look all that bad, all things considered, but when Berke whispered in my ear "you can let go of me now," I realized _exactly_ why I was being scrutinized by my closest of buddies. I had been holding his hand the entire journey back to my small dining group . . .boy, was I going to hear it later from Alucard.

"So, Mitchells, how are you?" Adrina smirked, then glanced at me. "Scarlett, how are things with Mr. Vampy?"

Berke and I settled into adjacent seats on the bench, but I avoided looking at him for the time being while I sensed I was being mocked—oh yeah, and that pesky voice I called a "conscience" was beginning to scold me.

"Uh, I think everything is going fine . . . but I'm not so sure now."

Berke's curiosity level abruptly bursted ten levels high, and he shot a inquisitive gaze at Adrina. "Are you talking about Alucard?"

Adrina scoffed, "What, Scarlett didn't tell you?"

He shook his head, and Desdemona affably reported, "He and Scarlett have been a couple for months now."

She grinned at me. "And they look adorably together, too."

Guilt waves suddenly pulled me into their monstrous rip current and began drowning me as mental salt crystals burned my nostrils, mouth, and conscience. Had I been leading him on, and this soon?

Berke's immediate drop of happy demeanor answered my contemplation beyond question. "Oh."

His dazzling cerulean eyes met mine and froze my heart with his dejected icicles. "Well, that's great. He must be a pretty nice guy to have you."

Another tidal wave. Yeah, Alucard was nice . . . if you considered bloodthirsty white sharks, killer piranhas with glistening fangs, mutated Venus fly traps, or snarling bull dogs with multiple bloodshot eyes to be friendly. Alucard was a monster with two enormous guns filled with bullets cored with either quicksilver or a melted cross from a Lucanian cathedral.

If I really thought about it, and analyzed his personality, not only was he cocky, egotistical, and wicked, but he was equally demoralizing. I could not think of any other conclusion to his killing so much. . . after all, he did not murder for no reason, but when he did, it was brutal. As I had only recently realized firsthand, vampires are dead but can experience no death . . . well, at least not a vampire at Alucard's strength. Everything about him denied him an end to "life" . . . and I had a strong feeling that is why he gazed at me with an uncanny glum expression whenever I appeared not to be paying attention.

Contrary to Capt. Bernadotte's brazen outbursts, Alucard would not have done what the Vatican did to me . . . never, not for as long as I lived unless it was ineluctable. Vampires did have hearts, they were simply broken over vast centuries of existing. They were perpetually sliding down a dark, dank tunnel, but they weren't ever able to see the light at the end, to have the grand epiphany of a life terminating only to begin a glorious revolution in the Heavens. That would never happen for them. . . .

I forced my tears away and swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in my throat. Even if I had first thought he was a monster, it was clear to me that was nowhere near the truth.

"Yes, he's very nice once you get to know him."

Everyone but Berke, the newbie who obviously didn't know that much about Alucard, gave me astonished looks, but I was not in the mood for explaining. If I spoke a word of my recognition, I knew my spiritual seams would tear again. The stitches were sewn poorly, as I never did learn to use a needle and thread too well, so my anguish from last night would still be able to erupt if I made the slightest effort of becoming deeply emotional.

The transformations had ripped me to pieces, as my realization did the same. Wasn't I doomed to the same fate now, if I relapsed back into that thirsty creature craving something revolting? If I eventually agreed to drink, won't I suffer the same incessant existence amongst beings that are fearful of death, the one thing I will gradually desire? Won't I become enshrouded in envy of ignorant humans, some who foolishly want to be a vampire, and drive myself so desperately insane that I will murder thousands just to have a taste of the one thing I can never have yet want so abjectly?

If I even began to mouth the words swarming in my mind, I was positive I would be abandoned by my human consorts and left only to the melancholy midnight awakeners with whom I was now associated. The thoughts were crazy, but they made so much sense to me.

I did not want to be a vampire, and I was never drinking blood. If I freed myself from Alucard's authority, I would have to face the barbarous death deprivation myself. Besides, he'd been alive for far too long to have to be alone . . . I don't know, but in my mind, it seemed soothing to have someone to be at your side always. Integra could take that place, but I knew Alucard would not turn her . . . not unless she truly desired becoming a hellish being trapped on Earth.

As that wasn't likely to happen, I decided I would simply deal with calling him "Master." I didn't mind it that much, anyway, and my plans gave me an excuse to refuse medical blood. . . .

Other than my ironic squeamishness.


	12. Sit Back, Relax, Relapse

_A/N: All right, I would just like to thank my friend "Danika," like I said I would, for helping me out with some of the ideas in this chapter. Oh, and this chapter's title is due in part to the song, "Camisado" by Panic! at the Disco. Danika told me recently that whenever I mention Scarlett relapsing, she thinks of this song . . . so, as you can see, I partially quoted the lyrics. . . ._

_Anyway, this chapter was actually one page longer than Chapter Nine was when I typed it in WordPerfect, so I'm hoping that means it's interesting . . . either way, thank you for reading, and happy . . . trails!_

Adrina was the only person to express her outrage by my claim about Alucard's benevolence. "Have you plumb lost your mind, girl? That vampire is the farthest thing from 'nice' there is around here!"

She squinted her eyes at me. "Are those pain pills you're taking giving you some sort of high?"

"No! I don't need the pills: I'm healed now." I mumbled as I lowered my eyes to the table, "I have the scars to prove it."

"Leave her be, Adrina," Desdemona interjected and gave Adrina a grave look. "You know how much pain she's been in for the past few months. This subject isn't funny."

That was true, I suppose. Each of my friends came to visit me when I was in the recovery wing of the hospital in Hellsing's mansion. I remember Adrina coming in especially, because she seemed edgy the whole time and wriggled about in her seat. She didn't appear to know what to say, seeing me lay stiff in an even stiffer bed, connected to various machines with puffy bags under my eyes and bandages covering my frail body. I was told I looked as pale as . . . well, you can probably guess.

And, despite no one really having knowledge on what I went through, it did seem logical that they would perceive this matter to be serious and nothing close to laughable. I bent the rules a bit with Adrina, however; she wasn't the type to take anything seriously, she often spoke without thinking, and most importantly, she was entirely too outspoken for her own good.

Still, any reminder hurt . . . which was mostly my motivation for wearing only long-sleeved shirts to bed (my gloves covered my wrists during the day). I even committed to wearing socks everywhere I went, or at least some sort of shoe to shield my ankles from my view—and I decided with much sorrow that all of my revealing shirts were to be discarded. I would not look at my body in the shower, as every glance to any scar scraped at the outside edge of a hollow hole in my chest.

It was no way to live, but it was the only way now.

"So, Berke, how are you?" Danika tried to break the silence and brought me out of my brooding.

His eyes shifted to the table as mine did so often lately. "All right. I'm just a little wet . . . and I smell like stale soup."

"What happened up there at the line?"

He was resistant, ". . . .Someone tripped me."

Suddenly, the scene began to blur before me, casting the many paled olive grey uniforms to an odd cherry color and throwing the unique hues of every human in the room to an equally unsettling maroon. My head started to throb, and as I heard a heartbeat at my ears, I anticipated the simultaneous rush of grief and hatred to swallow me as it had in my room with Stevie Wonder playing. It was happening again. . .

I hastily pushed the dining ware from my place at the table. I hunched over and braced myself for the calamity of turning that choked me. It was my personal murderer, only special and rare. My own, private killer allowed me to live after thrusting his obsidian sword through me.

Faces distorted to dripping eyeballs, bleeding nostrils, and gooey lips that oozed from skulls and merged with the melting bodies surrounding me. My own friends achieved grotesque coalescence, forming a colossal satanic blob with the other soldiers. All colors of the mess hall were lost to the blood-red screen that coated my eyes and fused to my sensory nerves. Crimson and the melting wax hell encompassing me were all my retinas would register.

The talking, so casual and trivial only moments before, intensified to a drilling sensation that punctured my eardrums. It was repetitive and loud, like the high buzzing noise of a fly played about three thousand times faster at maximum volume. Overtop the humming was the pulsating thud of a heart.

My physical throes blared at once. My chest constricted; my heart enlarged and rippled as it struggled to contract; my lungs stalled, and my bones quivered like jelly until I almost thought they might give way to the pressure. A massive toothache devoured my mouth, each tooth smarting sorely as I felt them grow and elongate. I moved my tongue accidentally and scratched it against the ragged edge of an incisor.

Still, the heartbeat withstood my torture, unlike before, when my heart instantly gave out and left an echo reverberating in my mind. The heartbeat, this time, seemed to escalate in volume and lose its rhythmic measures. Gradually, I realized the pulse was not a single throbbing, but a choir of hundreds pumping at the same time. That became evident when one in the background dropped out and my pain ceased, and then a million different thumps scattered in fright within my head. The noise accumulated until I could no longer think a single thought, whereupon I flung myself from my increasingly claustrophobic seat at the table and staggered into the people behind me.

My stomach gurgled hungrily, and it was then I saw I was directly in the middle of a vast swarm of cowering humans . . . distastefully full with the warm, fresh, thick blood that my body craved and demanded. Every inch of the room blazed with the seductive aroma, ripping through me with a scent I secretly desired but denied myself in pleasuring. The more I stood there, taking it all in, the harder the urge to pounce on the nearest human and drain him dry was to suppress. . . .

I gripped my head and clashed with the floor, wrestling with the despicable parasite hosting upon soul and infecting me with sinful, forbidden, loathsome thoughts. I wanted to—I knew I _had_ to—flee from the mess hall quickly if I wanted the lust to subside. My remaining in the room only put the human soldiers in danger, and I did not trust myself with their fragile lives.

Alas, my legs were glued to the floor by the weakness my dehydration caused me. Not drinking with Alucard cost me valuable strength, and I had not considered those consequences at the time. What's more, the ruckus around me clouded my mind and refused me the privilege of logical reasoning. As much as I did not want to consider it, the only thought I could form was just so: I was once again in need of a gallant, mystifying savior. Or, at least someone to rescue me from the penalties of my own pigheadedness.

I needed my Master.

The buzzing was maddening and broke me from my longing for Alucard's refuge. Though I was already sitting, I fell to the floor and laid there, grappling my skull ferociously. I clutched my hair at its roots and yanked, hoping the pain would cancel out the noise, but it was to no avail. I felt my vocal chords ache as I screamed and cursed, but I couldn't hear my voice. All I could hear was _thump, thump, thump, thump_ . . . like the sound of a drummer who knows only one beat.

"Scarlett?" I could barely hear it, but I knew someone was near me when one of the heartbeat's volume increased. I looked up through narrow eyes to see Berke, kneeling next to me, looking both fearful and concerned.

"Are you okay?" I read his lips. He reached out to tap my shoulder, but I cocked my head at him and snarled, hoping to scare him enough to make him leave. He was too close, and I would not be able to control myself for much longer.

He didn't move. He just pulled back when I snapped my teeth and returned to his sitting position when I stopped.

"Go away," I growled.

"You look like you're in a lot of pain," he was saying with gloomy, sad eyes, like a wounded puppy caught in a snowstorm. His apologetic face only annoyed me more—he would be more resistant if rueful.

"Leave me alone." My voice wasn't human at all, but much rather echoed a rabid canine imitating English.

"But Scarlett—"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

He jumped, startled, and left with his head low to join the bedlam brought into existence courtesy of my woes. I convulsed on the floor as I battled with the pounding, but I felt space around me, though it was not as comforting as it was usually. I still felt as if my small world was disintegrating, with its blue-gray ashes clogging my lungs and sprinkling me in filth. I could still hear the deafening tempo of the being I once was—the being I longed to stay.

I looked through my eyelashes at the soldiers filed into tight groups at the far ends of the room. I felt their repulsed eyes upon me, a fellow private who has such little self-control that she cannot contain her violent outbursts until she reached her own chambers. A fellow soldier who put each of their lives in danger with my incapacitating thirst. A fellow soldier who did not deserve to be a soldier at all.

Guns all aimed at me, with their triggers ready for the igniting spark of a finger, and their sights aligned on my hideous figure. I would have been turned into a bloody, icy wad of fleshy Swiss cheese if Sir Integra hadn't arrived at that moment and parted the winding sea of betrayed men.

I could not hear her voice, and as I became weaker from restricting myself from manslaughter and the hunger pains, my eyes began to close with tears of blood. I sobbed into my own bloody puddle beneath me as the heartbeats would not fade, but my ability to stay sane began to drop. I knew she was uttering countless orders with a placid visage, but I could find no comfort in having my highest superior halt my extermination while my whole body ached from a mental incineration. I waited to finally combust into my savage form.

Another body was near me again, but there was no change in the jagged-edged racket in my ears. The _"thump, thump, thump, thump_. . . ." was as it had been. I began weeping haplessly as I had before, knowing I was given salvation though I was far from worthy. His big hands on me, lifting me up and cooling my searing temperature, ended the pain again. Softly crushed against his cold chest like a newborn baby, with the soft fabric of his frilly undershirt caressing my tired skin, I was lulled instantly.

My morbid addiction was overwhelming as it became my only source of assuagement . . . and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

**I woke up in Master's throne once more, to the same pale face wrought with solicitude.** He sat in the same chair, with the same good posture, observing me with the same glistering red spinel eyes whose boiling waters had relaxed to a gentle ebb and flow. My blood-stained uniform had been replaced with soft grey sweat pants and a creamy lavender, ribbed, long-sleeved shirt. I had white cotton socks on my feet, and my hair was tied back into a loose ponytail. 

The plainly casual attire I sat in made me feel out of place in the unornamented but equally fascinating room, staring at someone who added complexity into everything he did. At least I was comfortable in my informal wear, and I took additional pleasure in knowing there was not a cicatrice to be viewed. Out of sight, out of mind, I supposed.

"Hey," I whispered as I adjusted myself in the curled ball my body formed. I leant my side against one armrest, and laid my head on my arm. Even if the chair was hard, I was effortlessly at ease.

"Cheerful?" he asked without a thread of joy in his voice.

"No, just relieved," I answered slowly, not sure what to think of his tone.

"You should have drank before," he muttered. "It wouldn't have been so impossible to restrain yourself around the soldiers if you had."

Lovely, what a great turn the discussion had taken already. "I am not going to drink, ever."

"I do not understand the cause of your obstinance. What is it that you cling to so desperately, that you possibly have the slightest chance in truly keeping?"

"My humanity."

He took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his glossy ebony mane, and gave me a wearied look. No doubt, my iterative nature was taking its toll on his energy supply when around me.

"Scarlett, you're not human . . . well, at least not for the most part. The doctors have confirmed your blood-thinner has caused a reaction between my blood and yours. This induces your relapses, and judging by the pattern they see, you change at sunset and sunrise. They suspect Iscariot slipped you a drug to trigger the time-generated shifts.

"However, they can't discontinue your herapin doses because you will be killed, so you're stuck with the changes until either your blood or mine wins its dominance. They can't give you anything to help with the pain, because you're a new, rare case that boggles the medical world, so it will always hurt. The doctors will persist in experimenting for a cure, but even they admitted the easiest way out of this mess for you is to embrace your vampire side."

Moisture spurted from my sore eyes upon receiving confirmation of my latest fears. There was no ethical way out of my turmoil, and if I went with the path of least anguish, I would expel myself into a world of death without true death and life without true life. As little sense as that made, it was the world of the vampire, a world to which I did not appreciate being introduced.

"No," I whispered with a shattered voice. "It's not fair. I was always a good girl, I didn't do anything wrong . . . I loved my God . . . I loved my family . . . there was the occasional slip, but that is normal for a human, and I always felt guilty afterwards. . . ."

"If this ordeal could be justified, it would not be the work of Catholic pigs," Alucard grumbled.

"So drinking blood would make this all better?" Satire poured from my mouth.

"Letting go of my past, including the good, would give me some ease? Entering a world where you kill just to feel what it could be like for you, yourself, to be in the position of the victim, although you know you never can . . . that will make me feel all right?

"Do you really want me to believe that I will feel better if I give in? I don't care that such admissions of defeat are in the 'natural order of things'; it does not provide me solace to think of letting go of all that has meaning to me. I will be that much closer to that which I despise, for I lack self-control if the boundaries are not clearly marked for me, and your world is in a constant fog to my untrained eyes.

"I do not trust in myself when it comes to my own restraint, and indulging now will only enforce my piteous habit of succumbing to my greater temptations."

After giving one of the longest speeches to one person in my whole life, Alucard seemed to still be listening attentively but also with frustration. He lifted from his seat across from me and proceeded to tower over me on his long legs, looking down with agitation at my shadowed form. I disappeared into darkness in his silhouette, and like an unnatural eclipse of the dull dungeon lighting, his figure immersed my own in its essence. He instilled fear in me whenever he approached me in this manner—I don't believe I ever got used to it.

"You are annoyingly mulish," he grunted.

"I just explained to you that cravings will be easier to harness if you allow yourself to 'succumb' to your 'greater temptations.'" He used my own words against me.

"You will have more strength to fight impulses, whereas your condition at this moment is so appallingly frail I could easily powderize your bones between my fingers.

"Furthermore, having your Master constantly come to your aid when you are in distress will prove to be most bothersome in the future. Eventually, like all creatures, you will want to take care of yourself."

I nearly exploded out of sheer anxiety. "You could snap me like a twig without exhorting any strength, eh? Then why don't you!"

I started screaming hysterically, breaking under the pressure of our debate that seemed to never end.

"Go ahead and maim me, Master, tear my skin to shreds before you turn my bones to dust, because I will never want independence! Turn into your multi-eyed, rabid dog and puncture my flesh and muscles with your teeth before eating me alive—I don't care! Anything to end what you desire me to face—anything at all that will release me from my sentence to damnation in an earth-bound perdition—is a blessing, a gift, a prayer in the darkest, most merciless nights! I want nothing more than for you to suck me dry, my Master!

"You said yourself there's no going back, I can't reverse any of this, so what should I care?" I continued to yell, only I threw myself at him, miserably uneffective in my attempts to communicate my nympholepsy properly. Instead of sounding angry, more blood began to seep from my eyes and stain my clothes.

"My family will never see me again, and if they did, they would have wished I hadn't returned, as I've disgraced their posterity, my generation. I've made it clear I'm a fool without a grip on my life today in the mess hall, with vivid displays of my agony and wrestling with inner demons. For that, friends will be unforgiving. My only other option is accepting defeat in my strife—so why don't you just ease the shame and kill me here, right now?

"I'd rather die than live the way that has been chosen for me. No more disobedience from your thickheaded fledgling, Master! Make me into mincemeat; I GIVE UP!"

I was beating powerlessly against his chest at this point, my blunt blows weak and disparaging. It would be shocking for someone to learn I had the same fiery, ghoulish, and egotistical blood as Alucard brimming in my veins, as my display of emotion was purely a last resort. My candle was barely burning, with its wax chipped and without a scent—such beauty was long gone.

* * *

**He succeeded in pinning me to a wall at his eye level, **with my feet dangling far above the floor and body limp from exhaustion. I could smell the stale scent of dried blood on his breath, though nausea did not overtake me for once. I suppose my unintentional yearning for what he had consumed cancelled out the queasy feelings of a human. 

Eyes that shone more vibrantly than sunstone sliced minute holes into my soul, bleeding from me that which I refused to replace. Any blood inside of me was valuable, I knew, for I did not drink to bring the amount back to normal, acceptable, or healthy. Still, my Master's gaze acted like novocaine as I bled, so the only pain I felt was knowing that he wanted me to leave behind my human side, although I would never be as beautiful as he if I walked a similar path. His beauty was unparalleled in all aspects, making him more deadly than I should have adored.

"I can't kill you, Scarlett," his deep voice impacted me with the force of a thousands tones as he stood so close. My blood continued to drip, pouring into his open mouth in my mind. "It would be immoral and degrading for a master to kill his child."

Renewed hope almost burst through me, acting as a tourniquet. My plan might work, as he would not kill me if I continued to stay his fledgling. I would be safe, until maybe another vampire came along and obliterated me, but if Master was truly watching over me, he wouldn't let that happen.

However, my dreams were trounced at his next words. "If you desire death, liberate yourself from my governing. It would be perfectly fine for you to die at my hands then, as you will have no connection to me."

I found myself screeching once again. "I don't want to die! I never wanted to die, at least not yet! I just want to know that old age waits for me, that I will become wrinkled and decrepit until I finally slip away. I want to look back on my life and reminisce about the golden days and lament the bad ones. I want to acquire wisdom and give it freely to any passer-by, even if I am to be considered just some annoying old lady. I want that privilege.

"A few months ago I would have been exhilarated at the thought of living forever, but I know the consequences that brings and I am not ready to accept them. I would have only considered the grief I felt losing my grandparents, but I know now that the peace they received once they left me is incomparable.

"You can't honestly tell me that you don't want that release at some point," I sniffled, the fury gone. "I know you do, Master, you all do. That's why everyone thinks vampires are so heinous. But I know why you act the way you do, and I don't want to lose my chance like you have."

His fire opal eyes widened, staring at me with shock that was hard to recognize at first. The staid glint in his iris gems vanished and was replaced by a shift in saturation. He raised his thick eyebrows in outrage and shoved my shoulders into the wall angrily, making me wince and whimper as he closed the space between our faces. Our noses touched as he began raising his voice at me as I had many times, rattling my core like a broken metronome.

My skin crawled as the raspy sound tore through me. "You don't want to lose your chance? You already have, you asinine ingrate! How many times do I have to explain it before it sinks in for you! Do your relapses teach you _anything_?

"You are never going to have the chance to die like your human ancestors, and it's never going to be peacefully when you do die. You're one of Hellsing's soldiers, and you'll probably get shot in the head or stabbed through the heart one day while your unit is on the move. With the way you are refusing blood, you might also be torn apart by a _freak_, though you have the potential to be so much more powerful!"

He rammed my shoulders again, making blood cloud my eyes at his words and treatment.

He scoffed, "Here you are, about to cry, as if you are going to restore the lifeblood you'll lose. Of course not, you'll just sit there in front of me once more and look sickened, when everyone knows what you really want. Does it make you happy to be such a masochist, Scarlett, or are you making your own life a living hell because you just don't know what else to do in order to stay 'human'?"

"I hate you," I whispered, sniveling like a two-year-old. I threw a fit and wriggled vacuously under his brute, unrelenting strength. "I hate you!"

"Wonderful," he sneered. "You're not supposed to like me."

My world decayed under the situation, with the mental purple skies liquidating, glass buildings dilapidating, and lavish dreams extricating only to be stomped out. I felt myself actually die, having the person I was so attach to gratefully accept my lies, for I did not hate him.

As much as I loathed him at that moment, I knew that my Master had drilled his own little niche into my heart since the day I woke up in that dingy little room to Walter rolling in an English breakfast, all for me. That recession was the reason why I found myself thinking of only him when I was in danger, and thinking of only him when I thought of a purpose at all anymore. I loved my former life, but it seemed the cavity in my soul had eaten at its significance.

He was controlling me more than he let others know, but I knew he was well aware of his influence. I'm sure everyone else did, too—the complaints my friends made of my spending nearly every evenings' moments with him made it all too clear. The soldiers weren't very nice about our alleged 'relationship,' either—don't even get me started on Capt. Bernadotte.

"You're so mean!" I continued my pathetic excuses for anger. "You know I can't hate you, but you make me so damned upset anyway! Even if I wanted to hate I couldn't, and you know that! You're such a. . . ." I felt my body wash cold.

"Monster?" He did not look surprised. What I hadn't said seemed to assure what he'd expected all along.

". . . .No," I lied, suddenly feeling guilty for the accusation. Even if it was the truth, I did not want to hurt him at all. His pride was overwhelmingly tremendous in its size, no doubt, but even though he hurt my own pride so aggressively, I did not want to even make a chip. I couldn't find any justifiable reasons for my actions in my head, but it sounded right.

He made me more irrational than what should be legal, most definitely.

I found myself making up excuses now. "I'm just easily affected. I'm sure anyone else could make me so . . . defenseless."

He startled me by smiling. "You give me too much credit."

"I know, but I can't help but add to your already mammoth-sized ego," I sighed. "I'm not very bright, am I?"

"No, but that's what makes you so irresistible," he smirked. The suffering I endured under his palms disappeared from my memory, for now I was simply suspended above the floor.

He titled his head slightly to the side, but before he could inch in any closer than he already was when he was chiding me, I started talking again. "Thank you for the compliment. Weren't we in the middle of a dispute, anyway?"

"Oh, that. Well, let's see where I left off . . . I believe I was stating how much of an idiot you are for your resistance, and then you told me you hate me and that I have too much power over you," he recapped the last few minutes. Then, he closed his eyes and leaned in. "Now, I'm just about to prove your point."

I gaped. "I can't believe you! You insult me, admit to being a tyrannous dictator, and now you think I'm going to let you _kiss_ me?"

"I don't need your permission."

I gawped uncontrollably, completely blown away by his conceit. "So what, now you own my lips, too?"

His lips pulled upward at the corners and he opened his eyes. "As long as you allow, I own every part of you, my dear. 'Master' isn't just a general term; I'm entitled to many things concerning you."

"That's it! Let go of me right now!"

"No."

"I said let go!"

"First of all, you can't order me around. Secondly, you act as though you don't want me."

I felt my face contort from disgust. "I don't want you, _Master_. I don't think that way."

"Scarlett, you can't hide the lust in your eyes. It emanates from your very aura."

"I'm just hungry," I replied flatly.

"For my touch," he grinned.

"No, not your touch, you pervert! I bet you even consider 'Master' to be a sexual term, the way your mind functions! It's men like you my grandmother warned me against, you know. Why, I bet she's turning in her grave this very instant, seeing me in your gr—"

I'm positive my grandmother's ghost was shouting profanities at him from her spot in Heaven. Not only did he cut me off, but even though I vehemently objected, he once again he abused his masterly rights. He struck me motionless under the slight pressure of his lips, and even though I'm sure it wasn't anything special, he broke my resolve in two with his extrasensory abilities. I found myself spiraling into a bright light, then little cartoon-like confetti cascaded across my vision as I shut my eyes. My nonexistent temperature rose, brilliant sparks flew, soprano angels sang "Hallelujah" until I was sure Master was playing mental tricks on me. Yes, it was the whole nine yards and more, for when he pulled away and gave me that satisfied smile, I knew he had succeeded in leaving me lustful—and he knew it as well.

"Tell me you don't want me now," he whispered faintly into my ear, the delicate breath caressing down my neck as I shivered.

"I . . . don't . . . want . . . you," I barely edged out, knowing I was so extremely far from convincing that Grandma would be scolding me now if she could for falling for such a bad boy. Even though I was only feet off of the ground, his contact made me dizzy, and each word I said had its own pitch. I sounded out of breath, even though only seconds had passed.

I could hear his voice creasing from gratification. "That's what I thought."

He let me down, knowing unfairly that I would not be able to regain my footing and would need his help to move. He seemed overly elated, unable to keep down a grin as I tripped over my own feet. I gripped the back of a dining chair for support as he laughed at me from behind me. I still felt light-headed.

"You are very easily affected," he agreed with my previous statement. "I can't even imagine how you would be acting if I had kissed you earlier, while your mouth was open. You probably would have fainted from the sheer adrenaline rush."

"I'm glad you're enjoying this," my voice sounded distant as I safely grappled the chair, "but I can't get the room to come back into focus. It's very frustrating."

"Let me help you," he grabbed my waist and stabilized me against his body. Even if neither of us were letting off heat, I felt a quilt of warmth cover me.

I sighed and nearly dozed off against him. I was tuckered out from the hardships tolerated that day, and I found it amazing that I didn't black out sooner. I suppose a heated argument would keep anyone awake . . . that, and fighting for one's privacy.

"Hey," I mumbled, "could you maybe just take me to my room? I'm tired."

* * *

**I was in my bed before I realized,** with Alucard standing beside me in the dull moonlight seeping in through my curtains. Even through my groggy eyes he was unfairly beautiful, a marble statue carved out of something born many centuries ago, long before anything I knew existed. The elegant ruffles in his cream-colored undershirt, the faint shine in his hair, and the striking hue of his gemstone eyes even with the darkness made me envious. He had so much . . . except for one thing, the one thing most humans fear and try not to think about. 

It was melancholic to consider that even with everything Alucard seemed to possess, he still felt empty in trading in his human form. He didn't usually let it show, but I saw rare changes in his disposition out of the corner of my eye, or heard the dismal undertone in his voice when he being serious with me. That day in the hospital was a real eye-opener, for he revealed to me how vulnerable he could become. It wasn't the Alucard I was used to seeing, and it scared me. I did not want to increase the pain he felt already or have him hide it from me.

"Goodnight, Master," I mouthed, a lump caught in my throat for what felt like the umpteenth time. I had to find a way to be a little less dreary, I told myself as a resolution. Maybe I would start that tomorrow, once the sun came up. . . .

"Goodnight."


	13. A Time For Change

_A/N: Oh my gosh! It's been waay too long since I last posted! I hope you believe when I scream, "I'M SORRY!" because I really am...I don't have a very good excuse for not updating besides school and having a little virus on my computer...that, and writer's block. It took me forever, so I'm hoping this chapter is good. It's the longest one yet, spanning about 16 pages in WordPerfect...soo...umm, happy reading!_

**The sky was deadly, a piercing black curtain drawn over the depressing scenery** offered by the Hellsing Organization's section of London. Stars jotted the darkness like tiny blemishes created by God to deface the once blessed time of each day. The little speckles of glitter beseeched my weary figure from the floor of the forest upon which I laid, pleading that I follow their guidance to a safer, loftier place amongst them. They called to me, whispering my name, and restored the beauty I had lost to my inexorable, incurable malady. Glow, long fled from my face and replaced by a sickly ashen tone, resurfaced. My eyes no longer felt heavy and sore from sporadic, dramatic weeping and lack of sleep. Despite the gaping hole in my chest that evoked no pain and would have otherwise diminished my appeal, I felt beautiful.

Beneath the fictitious moonlight, I was whole and alive. The critical injury of my breastplate worried me not, for I was too elated to consider death.

My dreams were rarely as nice as this, I knew, and I enjoyed the momentary release from oppressing reality. The landscape surrounding me was ethereal, mirroring woods you might happen to see if touring the tropical biome of Heaven. The slender, graceful, raw umber trunks of trees seemed to sway to the peaceful music of eventide, the soft brown dirt cool beneath my worn body, and the trees of the canopy towering over me were painted a brilliant emerald. Wild, vivid flowers native only to rainforests sprouted around me, along with jade ferns and leafy shrubs. To my far right, there lay across the path a large, rotting tree flecked with colorful fungi and slathered in moss. The path was clear to my left, but I had visited the paradise without company and no one seemed to be worried of my whereabouts.

Strange birds whistled in the treetops a soothing melody seemingly similar to the lullaby that sent me sleeping as a child. Small creatures' paws pattered across the ground around me in the shrubbery, hidden from my view. There was the occasional rustle of leaves from soft winds or busy nocturnal animals. All felt natural and at ease. The harmony mirrored the comparison of music notes to the concord of a family represented by Shakespeare in Sonnet 18, and the dream itself was as masterly poetic.

Suddenly, darkness engulfed my tranquil resting. It was not the darkness of night itself, for such black was beautiful, enticing, and serene. This darkness was threatening and malignant, a cancerous tumor infecting my pleasant thoughts. It was unwelcome, and something about the baleful pigment of the cloud infiltrating my wonderful dream sent shivers up and down my subconscious spine.

I tried willing the cloud away, but it continued to approach me and swallow me, its miasma attacking my lungs and clogging my nostrils. I struggled against the imaginary asphyxiation, unable to move from my comfortable spot on the forest floor. Just before I thought I had suffocated, the smoke disappeared and reappeared at my feet in figure that loomed over me, a silhouette against the moonlight.

The only thing that gave away the figure's identity was the color of his eyes, fiery and vibrant even in the shadows.

Upon the realization in my dream, the hole in my chest began to ache, and the shady form laughed cynically as my pain heightened. Unknown memories of having my heart ripped out flashed past my eyes. The silhouette had gashed his hand through my chest and seized the organ before tearing it artery from artery, capillary from capillary out of my body. Blood sputtered from the ruptured blood vessels, and as I watched in nauseated horror, I saw the figure draw my heart to his mouth and bite off a chunk like an apple. He spit the large piece out onto the ground before sucking the heart dry.

I jumped awake to the sound of my own screams. Sunlight spiked through my curtains and left lacy patterns across my sheets, which made it clear that I had slept through a relapse. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and feel it at my throat, so I knew it had happened, but I never woke up.

Nevertheless, the nightmare was more than enough to suffice.

I curled up into a ball beneath my sheets, my flesh cold to the touch and temperature low. I felt frozen and wouldn't be surprised if my ashen skin had a bluish hue to it—it seemed the nightmare had succeeded in killing me for a second time. Sure, the Iscariot were my true murderers, but seeing those same eyes in my dream, and picturing those eyes on the face of my enemy was agonizing.

My pillows were wet, and when I saw the blood staining the previously untarnished white pillow cases and felt it on my face, I knew I had been crying at some point during my dream. The crushing sensation of betrayal had leaked from the notional walls of my subconscious, affecting my physical condition. It was like roaming the streets innocently one day, only to look up and see a gigantic black zeppelin overflowing with enemy soldiers crash down on you. The weight of my heart when my dream illustrated what humans usually considered to be a true vampire's nature was disabling. It was as if it was really happening.

_But it isn't, and it won't_, I told myself continually as I shivered. Alucard wouldn't do that to me . . . my subconscious was just playing nasty tricks on me. That was all.

* * *

**My day felt even worse than the morning.** My life had changed tragically, it seemed, in a night's mere time. I finally knew what it meant to be outcast.

When I first walked out into the training grounds, the normal hustle and bustle seemingly vanished at the sound of my boots crunching against the earth. I felt prying eyes upon me, as if they awaited some sort of violent outburst or vicious rampage. The malevolent scrutiny was overwhelmingly depressing, and knowing that I was no longer considered suitable for the title "fellow soldier" by so many of my peers was agonizing. I had no one to blame but myself.

If I was not being sized up, I was being ignored completely. I could walk past large groups without a word being said or a stray eye absorbing a glimpse of me. All would hush to a painful silence, and I would walk on by, staring at the soldiers I thought I knew in wonder, only to be treated as if I did not exist.

Also, if none of the previous statements fit, I heard indistinct speaking, my ears occasionally hanging on the sound of my name, or the words "monster," "crazy," "lunatic," and "vampire whore." I tried to act as if I couldn't hear anything, that I was stricken deaf as a side-effect to my humiliation, but deep within my heart there were icicles that refused to thaw over burns and gouges that refused to heal. The words caught on the tip of the ice and tore pieces from the wounds, reopening the sores and allowing old blood to pool into an emotional bruise.

However gruesome that image is, the majority of the soldiers' betrayal was nothing compared to the treason I felt when ousted from my group of friends. I hadn't seen Berke in the beginning of the day as I thought I would, with Berke acting as Mr. Vasquez's interpreter. I did, however, see Adrina and Desdemona on my way to the shooting ranges.

"Hey guys," I called halfheartedly, not having enough energy left to put up a front for them.

Adrina walked past as casually as one might if a zephyr passed through—not even a glance in my direction, a murmur, or a slight change in pace or breathe occurred. Desdemona followed behind her quickly, only briefly looking at me at the last second with a world of anguish in her eyes. Then, she turned away and ran off, leaving me more downtrodden than at the start.

I thought, _Well, at least I have Danika. She wouldn't leave me—we're like sisters, practically_. On that note, I tried shaking it all off and calmed myself enough to only miss the target by about ten centimeters rather than a meter—which, by the way, was a major improvement.

It was only until after my session with Capt. Bernadotte—who, to my sincerest discouragement, had no lecture (or any decent words at all) for once—was through that I was stabbed a fifth and final time.

Danika, dusted with gunpowder and smeared sparingly in other grime, was trotting toward her next section as normal at the same time as me. I hurried and caught up with her, my eyes bursting with oppressed tears and heart erupting with emotions that needed to be vented.

I cracked a smile when I saw her next to me, ready to tell her everything I had been through and how much I valued her just being there for me so many times before. I felt the water welling at my eyes, ready to topple the dams called eyelids.

"Dani," I heard my voice quivering, "I really need to talk to you." I stretched out a hand, grasping gently for her shoulder.

However, before I could touch her, she increased her footing and was out of my feeble reach. I simply stood there, in shock and desolation, while her back grew smaller and smaller in the distance, my arm suspended in the air and hand still reaching. She looked back briskly, but didn't change courses.

I was in awe.

Then, I couldn't breathe. I felt the world falling in on me, with the quiet, gossiping soldiers melting like wax figures in a decaying museum. The sky arched and collapsed in on itself, the ground swerved, and I was truly dying once more—I knew this because my life flashed before my eyes.

Days spent in dreary classrooms lightened up with a friend's soft smile and encouraging nudge, oh, how they whirled past me. The countless sleep overs where we'd stay up past sunrise just for the hell of it, just to talk—it didn't matter what we discussed because it never does with friends that close. The birthday parties with homemade cards that had jokes and sentiments you knew came from the heart, and the laughs as streamers flew down from the ceiling and candles were blown out. The hour-long, long distance telephone calls, filled with the nitty-gritty information that you wouldn't dare tell anyone but your most trusted buddy. The tears we shared as family problems burnt the sparkles out of our eyes and we found it hard to hang on.

I had confided so much in Danika, I realized, and she had confided so much in me. My father's leaving for war had been overwhelming, and Danika knew every feeling I felt when I saw him walk out the door for the last time. When her parents alternated nights for arguments and caused the bright, shining angel I saw in her to disappear, I had been there for her and had told her I'd always be willing to listen. When she struggled with her inner demons and actually contemplated leaving everyone behind in a single, final blow, I knew I had heard plenty of her struggle and tried to help whatever way I could, even when I wasn't sure I knew how. I could tell her things I wouldn't tell anyone else, because the trust I had in her was so profound.

It was like losing my family again—not the blood-bonded, but the spiritual, emotional family that I built my life around in order to protect just as I had my own flesh-and-blood. I was losing another sister, even though our parents were different and homes were separate. I loved Danika like I did my own sibling and relatives.

Now, she was gone, as were my other friends whom I still counted as family, even if we weren't as close. They were all gone.

I couldn't even a step foot near the mess hall—I didn't have the strength left in me.

Instead, I ran to my room, though blinded by the silent, salty tears I could no longer keep at bay. I ran as quickly as I could, hiding my face in the shadows of my ducked head as I followed the gravel and floorboards to my door. Even then, the improvised seams of my soul were fraying and my resolve was pulverizing under the weight of my heart.

Hitting rock bottom, I opened the door to relapse into the wretched form that was the root of my every pain.

Afterward, I sank into the torn sheets and bloody pillowcase that had hardened and turned burgundy over the hours. I didn't have the energy to restrain my wails or sobs, for the loss had stripped me of everything of value. I was as shattered as a cathedral window after a denotation six millimeters away.

I just sat there, my head resting on my knees as I hugged my shins, and cried.

I cried for the weakness I owned. I was too weak to contain my tears, too weak to contain my relapses, too weak to accept the fact that my life as a human was over and I should have be happy I had a second chance at "living," in a sense. I was too weak to speak up when I was being ignored, too weak to apologize for tainting the good name of the Hellsing Organization—and too weak to stand up to my own enemies. I was too weak for anything but weakness.

I recognized an issue suddenly then—hadn't I prayed for this not to happen? Hadn't I spent countless minutes each night expressing my shame to God, asking for forgiveness and guidance? Wasn't I fighting as a _protestant_, killing in the name of God? Even before this mess, wasn't I a good Christian who loved her Creator and thanked Him for everything she was given?

. . . .Then why was I being ignored?

The sorrow suddenly turned to intense outrage and indignance.

_I'm guessing my prayers don't mean ANYTHING to You anymore, do they, God? Because I'm a shell without a soul, I'm not good enough to be heard anymore—my repentance doesn't mean a damned thing, even though NONE OF THIS was my choice_, I heard my mind screeching the sour words.

_Nothing I'll ever do can redeem me from the Hell into which misguided Catholics have cast me. I'm stuck as this—demon—aren't I, God?_

Somehow, I found a small ration of fury that I must have kept for drastic measures, for my next words didn't sound like Scarlett at all—at least, not the Scarlett everything thought they knew.

_Well you know what, I don't give a damn anymore! There's no use fighting to keep my humanity, because I now see it was never there. I woke up in that hospital bed, and it was gone. It's merely a phantom memory I've been grasping so frailly. My own Master, a vampire—now that I can no longer belong to you, Lord—tried telling me, but I'm so big of an ass that I pretended not to hear him._

I was becoming very bitter now. _Thank you kindly for the forlornness, I can now see the putrid light spitting out the end of this slimy tunnel. I've heard that Hell isn't as bad as many make it out to be, if you can mind the smell. Even so, I guess I'll have to deal, because I'm leaving tonight._

_Tell my Grandmother I'm sorry, please, and give my mother, father, and sister a sign that I'll never forgive myself for this. They don't deserve to be hurt by any of my mistakes, but they do deserve to know. Thanks._

"Amen."

I opened my eyes, feeling strange in my skin for the first time in a few days. I had gotten used to feeling cold, to not having my chest heave up and down for breath. However, I felt different somehow, though I can't truly explain it. All I can say is that it wasn't a miserable notion—it was actually quite pleasant.

I remembered it was sundown and decided to make my way down to the destination of my departure. If I didn't get this over with immediately, I knew, there was an extremely plausible chance that I would find some way to back out. I also knew that this was a time for change, and I couldn't let myself act so foolishly and expect to regain control.

Scarlett Vera Cross was to be weak no longer—and that was a promise.

* * *

**About an hour passed, and I felt my legs beginning to wobble anxiously as I stood outside** the thick dungeon door. I was contemplating whether this was the best approach to my problem, or if I should maybe wait out this sudden wave of courage and take a more gentle, "Scarlett-like" confrontation.

Surely, this wasn't the last store of adrenaline in my whole body—I could work up zeal again, if I truly put a zesty thought toward it.

Then again, I couldn't be sure anymore. I had tumbled down a very steep, slippery slope since Iscariot's confinement, and somehow, I had found the muscle in my legs to sprint from the bottom to the very peak of the mountain in hardly any time at all. How could I rest assured that this wasn't a last resort for my spirit, that my subconscious was losing it and was counting on me to finally stand up to my fears?

I couldn't, I realized, and with a sigh, rapped on the door three cursory times. I heard the deep rumbling voice from within allowing me entrance, and hesitantly heaved the great door open.

I poked my head in before the rest of my body, straining my eyes back to where he sat in his oversized throne. "I said you can come in," he simply repeated, so I forced my legs to drag my feet into the room.

I hung my head for a few good seconds before I decided to lift my face for his view. I grappled my wrists uneasily behind my back as I tried to swallow my heart, as it was currently lodged in my mouth.

"Hey," I mumbled, wringing my wrists surreptitiously.

However, he still raised an eyebrow. "Why are you suddenly under the logical notion of fear at my presence?"

"I'm just nervous, that's all." I was reassuring myself more than him.

"What ails your mind?"

I finally swallowed. "Well, it's a long story."

His smile was light. "I'm guessing this is a story you wish to share with me."

". . .Well, yes," I diverted my eyes to the wall, "if you don't mind."

I took a seat at the dining table after he told me to do so, and scooted the chair a bit closer to his throne, seeing as the two were a few good meters from each other. Then, I began my explanation.

I reiterated my entire day's happening, omitting the dream in conscious recognition of the embarrassment factor (I didn't want him to start thinking I dreamt of him, after all). I explicated the desertion of fellow soldiers, including my friends, and how I was given the cold shoulder by Capt. Bernadotte—among others. I also mentioned my disrespect toward God, and how I had finally realized that keeping my humanity was impossible if I was to further exist.

At the end of my monologue, he sighed in what appeared to be relief. "I'm glad such obvious facts have penetrated the thick barrier of obstinance enveloping your mind. I was afraid I'd have to beat it into you."

"That won't be necessary," I agreed. I dropped off then, debating whether I should mention my ulterior motive for visiting that night. I concluded that was probably best, so I continued.

"In fact," I whispered, "I don't believe a lot of things will be needed, but I do have a few questions before I'm sure. You see, I've been thinking a lot today—having ample solitary time on my hands and all—and I think I've finally decided my decision on something very important."

"Ask away," he murmured as he sank back into his throne.

"Well, I've heard rumors and myths more times than I can count, and I figured I should consult an expert on this sort of thing before I acted. My question being: do . . . vampires . . . have difficulty sharing the same hunting territory?"

He smirked with a chuckle. "Unless you aim on becoming a savage, forest-dwelling brute, you won't have to worry about 'territory.' If you'd stop being so squeamish, you'll regularly dine on medical blood, or maybe the occasional human or fellow vampire if you're out on a mission—and humans are free to everyone."

"So," I said with reluctance, "I could still come down here and . . . visit you? Nothing between us would really change, beside you being my Master?"

He cracked a bigger smile. "Exactly."

"Okay. Then my next question is . . . am I going to change a lot, personality-wise?"

"Be specific."

". . . Am I going to be mean?"

"Well, the only true differences you'll have between you right now and your truer form would be the lack of innocence. You won't be such a sweet, charming little girl, but more witty and, highly likely, more obnoxious. You won't be mean, precisely, but you will be more prone to show less mercy towards others. By the way you act now, you've always been a relatively kind person, so that isn't going to be altered greatly—you'll still be caring, but to a certain extent.

"You'll also be more decisive, and thankfully, less of an unwaveringly intractable fool concerning the fruitless."

I took a few seconds to process everything. "So what you're saying is that there's really everything to gain and little to lose in this . . . exchange?"

"I'm glad you've finally seen the light, dear child."

I took a deep, long breath—though unnecessary physically—and closed my eyes. This was a lot of information to take in, and an extremely crucial choice to be made. If I at long last went through with this, I wouldn't feel that heartbeat in my chest ever again, see the blush on my cheeks that mimicked the early stages of rosation due to my self-consciousness, or have my eyes puff out from crying. However, on the brighter side, I wouldn't experience the pain of relapsing . . . right?

I asked Alucard that question as soon as I thought of it, to which he replied, "I do not see why you would continue to suffer. If you allow yourself to satiate the thirst, thus becoming a true vampire, your undead side will conquer your human side easily. If there's nothing human left within you, I do not see how you could possibly turn back into one."

That was comforting. I was just about to tell of my relief when he cut me off, saying, "Have your suspicions and concerns been settled now? Will you finally free yourself from my authority tonight?"

"You really want me to be on my own, don't you?" I tried not to sound sulky.

"Don't take it personally, Scarlett. I just know you are better off if I don't have to father you."

He was probably right.

"I understand," I sighed. "The only problem is, I don't want to drink the blood of people whose mere names are oblivious to me. I feel like I'm disrespecting them, treating them as if they're nothing more than an eight-pint blood dispenser."

He grinned. "Creative simile."

"I'm being serious, Master. If I was a human, I would not want someone to just take my blood like that, because without a donor, a vampire won't be able to access blood from a hospital like we do here. If there's no blood to give, there's nothing to drink, and well . . . it's insensitive to just drink like it's as replaceable as water."

"Scarlett, you can't stop to learn something about every person you'll ever feed on. Think of it as learning the pet name of every animal you've ever eaten—it's an outrageous number and is completely unrealistic."

He let slide a wry smile. "Besides, with the way humans reproduce every single day in Europe—not to mention in all of the other countries—blood _is_ nearly as expendable as water. It's surprising to see a human doing something other than pleasuring another—you'd think they'd get tired after a while."

I exhaled, a bit aggravated at how the conversation had twisted. "That isn't what I meant."

* * *

**Suddenly, a few brisk knocks sounded on the door at the other side of the room.** I watched the door open slightly and saw Walter, looking refined and distinguished as usual, walk in casually and place two pails of blood on the table. Ever since he realized I would feed with Alucard—if I ever did—Walter began bringing in an extra bucket for me.

Needless to say, the extra packets usually just sat there, unless Alucard wanted another helping.

"Miss Cross, you seem to have a few visitors," Walter informed me amiably, glancing quickly from Alucard to me. His monocle cast a slight glare from the ceiling lights.

"Oh, all right. I'll head up to my room this minute," I replied a bit skeptically and began edging from my seat until Walter told me that wouldn't be necessary—the guests were waiting outside, in the dungeon's hallway.

I couldn't hide the befuddlement from my face—why on earth would anyone want to see _me_, the vicious soldier whose vampire half was spawned by Alucard's blood, one of the most feared nosferatus of all time? Just that morning through to early evening, every soldier and officer I could name—minus Berke, whom I hadn't seen that day at all—neglected my presence or quietly gossiped about me amongst their little groups.

Maybe it is Berke, I thought, but then I realized that Walter said "visitor_s_," meaning that more than just Mitchells would want to see me. That was fairly odd, as abject as it sounds.

I suppose Walter could read my confusion. "They harbor an apology, Miss Cross. They believe they might have offended you earlier today and are ashamed of such a practice."

I was still a little incredulous, but I couldn't see the harm in talking to whomever it was that "wanted" to see me. If there was an ill turn of events, I always had Alucard to back me up, as I was pretty confident he wouldn't let anything horrible happen to me as his figurative "child."

"All right," I stated, "I'll go out and see them then."

"That won't be necessary; just send them in here, Walter," Alucard cancelled out my idea, and I shot a perplexed look toward him. To my expression he replied, "It's more convenient to eavesdrop if you're in the same room as me, seeing as I'm going to listen in anyway."

_At least he's honest_, I thought sarcastically. Just then, the guests filed in to the room, astounding me more than ever before.

The first to come in was Berke, whom I was exceptionally overjoyed to see. He had a dejected air about him, and his striking, bright blue eyes looked dull when paired with his frown. Even his feet dragged as he entered the room, and he hung his head slightly as if there was a kink in his back.

After seeing his behavior, I decided against running up and hugging him for dear life.

"Scarlett," his normally soft but strong voice was barely audible, and I felt tears attacking the back of my eyes again. My gleaming, sparkling sun had been replaced by some wilted, faded excuse for a star.

He continued walking toward me, as if some invisible voice was projecting him to me though his vigor had died. He stopped about a foot away from me, and I could then see bright red circles lining his eyes. Had he cried earlier?

"I'm sorry about everything that's happened to you," he was whispering when his voice cracked. "I tried convincing the other guys that you aren't what they think you are, but none of them believe me. I'm not surprised, though—why would they believe a reject?"

"Berke . . ." I felt as if I was looking into a mirror for the first time in a long time. It wasn't long ago when I had thought those same words, or had the same red circles surrounding my eyes. It was heart-rending.

"Can we come in now?" I heard a familiar voice at the door and nearly dropped lifeless of a heart attack. I looked over to confirm my thoughts, and I was right: dirty blonde hair, unique dark chocolate eyes, a modest smile—it was Danika.

Following in after Danika were Adrina and Desdemona, making the small room a bit crowded. However, for once in my life I was not claustrophobic—the euphoria I felt at seeing my best friends looking at me with an emotion other than disgust wiped out the fear.

I was on the verge of another breakdown, I could feel it.

"Speaking for all of us," Desdemona piped up as she gestured an arm toward the two girls beside her, "we're really sorry for the way we've acted. It was totally inconsiderate and absolutely insensitive."

"I'm not going to disagree with you," I muttered sadly. "At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I died a second, more painful death when you guys walked away."

"Well, we've come to our senses, and we feel like fucking morons," Adrina smiled spiritlessly. ". . . Okay, so Mitchells over there kind of had to drill the facts into us first when we told him how we'd thought you'd lost it. But we're here now, and I knew you wouldn't really go crazy like that, girl . . . I just wasn't thinking."

"No, no, I was crazy," I disagreed. "I have never acted so possessed in my entire life. Being in that mess hall with all of you . . . humans . . . was the hardest thing I'd ever done."

"You must have been pretty damn hungry," Adrina commented. I fidgeted a little at the blunt truth of the remark.

Danika stepped forward closer than Berke had and embraced me fiercely. "I feel like such an ass. After all we've been through together—" she broke off and started sobbing. I hugged her back and allowed her to nestle her face into my neck and cry. Like I said before, I loved Danika like a sister, and comfort is something sisters give to each other—even if they do get into disagreements more than once in a while.

"Group hug!" Adrina announced, and I felt everyone huddle around me and engulf me in a sea of friends. Despite my stomach's own opinion of having the humans around me, I could not have been happier.

When the crowd settled, Berke composed himself a bit better than he had and asked Desdemona for a box. Des ran over to the side of the room near the door where she'd set down a small cardboard box, and hurried back to Berke after retrieving it.

"Everyone in this room knows that these things wouldn't have happened if you would have drank already," Berke almost mumbled the last words as he looked a bit apprehensive to be discussing such a topic. "But, I also know from what Danika told me that you haven't drank yet because you're opposed to drinking from someone you don't know."

"Yes," I answered doubtfully. Where was he taking this conversation?

Suddenly, his effervescence resurfaced. "Well, after I convinced the girls that you don't deserve to be treated like a monster, I sort of took the liberty of discussing some issues with one of the doctors here. I explained our situation and was able to get the doc to perform a donation without any extensive testing."

"What did you donate?"

"_We_ donated blood, silly." Berke's grin was broad. "Granted, the four of us could only produce a single packet, but we had each of them labeled so you can tell what came from whom."

I was about to start bawling like a baby. Despite how grotesque any logical person would think my mind-set at that time, I thought what they had done was amazingly angelic. "You guys are so sweet! You'd literally give blood for me!"

"How else are you supposed to get the hell better?" Adrina chortled darkly.

"We do care about you, Scarlett, we just lost our hearts," Desdemona added, her cute, adorable self coming back into animation. "It's one of humanity's flaws."

Berke handed me the box, and I set it on the table next to the buckets. The thought suddenly struck me. "You guys do know that . . . I'm not going to a be a human anymore after this, ever, right?"

"Yeah, but it's not like we're losing you. You'll still be our Scarlett," Danika responded happily. "I'd rather have a vampire as a friend than a human whose constantly battling against herself for no good reason."

_I'm sensing a reoccurring theme here_, I thought. Then, I recalled that even though Alucard had invited my friends in, I had ignored him the entire time and it really was _his_ room—not to mention he was probably starting to get a bit thirsty by now.

"Well, thank you guys so much. I owe each of you big time," I grinned. I cycled through the group and gave each person a hug. I ended on Berke, the person responsible for my life's reparation.

"Berke," I began, "I can't thank you enough. I wish I knew a way to repay you."

Then, I did something probably no one in the room expected—I mustered up some form of courage and kissed Berke on the cheek. He must have changed sixty shades of pink, and he had the funniest look on his face. However, I had a feeling he enjoyed it, judging from the sheepish grin that stretched across his lips.

I could have sworn I heard a growl, though. In fact, after the little group left, I heard it again.

When I turned to look at Alucard, I realized where the origin of the grumble. There, the No Life King sat with an acrimonious face that reflected the bratty expression of a spoiled five-year-old deprived of a new toy. His eyes were narrowed bitterly and his lips tugged down into a taut scowl. He slouched against one side of the throne, his elbow resting on an arm and chin resting furiously on a fist.

"What's wrong?" I asked, and as I spoke the words I realized, to my dismay, that my concern was showing.

I guess he didn't notice. "Nothing, I'm perfectly fine."

"No you're not, Master. I've never seen you look so aggravated—even if I'm an ass, it doesn't get to you this much." And, considering how he treated me that last night when I refused to allow myself to drink, whatever this was that upset him must have been really bad.

"I'm not sure it's wise to hang around humans the way you do." His voice was rather gruff. "Especially that boy, the translator."

"Berke?" I was shocked—Berke was a practical every-day _angel_! What could possibly be wrong with Berke?

"That was his name? I must not have been paying attention."

"Master, you must have misread Berke. He's the nicest person you could ever wish to meet. Why, without him I—"

"Just because you have the capacity doesn't mean you have the right to seduce a human, Scarlett. It's impolite, especially with a vampire's advanced powers."

"I'm not leading him on," my voice was firm with indignance. "Besides, in case you forgot, Master, I was a human for a great deal of time, and yet you never ceased to shamelessly attempt to seduce _me_."

"That's a completely different subject matter."

"Why, because I'm a girl?"

"No."

"Because I'm not officially a vampire yet?"

"No."

"Then _why_?"

"It simply is, and that's the end of it."

No, no, I thought I was catching on to something. He wasn't telling me the real reason he didn't like me associating with Berke. He didn't like the way I was acting around Mitchells . . . hmm . . . aha! Suddenly, the little lightbulb in the attic clinked on.

"Master," I said coyly, "are you . . . jealous?"

He shot up from his slumped position almost immediately. "Where would you get such a preposterous idea?"

"Oh, I don't know . . . maybe by the way you were slouching, gritting your teeth . . . and by the way you responded so quickly when I merely mentioned jealousy."

"I have no reason to be jealous of a _pansy_, Scarlett."

"Berke is not a pansy, he's just sensitive!"

"He couldn't be more effeminate if he tried."

"You're just mad because I could go ahead and kiss Berke like it is no big deal but refused to kiss you," I sneered. "You're only denying it because you consider it to be like revealing a weakness."

I cut him off just as he opened his mouth to retort something smart. "Look, I'm really thirsty right now. Why don't we finally get this drinking over with?"


	14. Decisions

_A/N: Oh my! I do believe the last time I posted I said I'd try to have the next chapter (that being this chapter) up as soon as possible . . . and well, I admit it, I slacked. I would get finished homework and go to bed or work on any of my other fanfictions. So, sorry 'bout that, but hey, I posted _now_, doesn't that count?_

_I hope you like this long-awaited chapter. Oh, and thanks for reading as always!

* * *

_

**Even though my comfort level had rose several bars concerning drinking** due to my friends' selfless donations, I still felt a bit uneasy as I sat staring at the table, studying the grain in the wood. Yes, I acted strong when deciding that this is what I must do; yes, I acted strong when I cut Alucard off before he could respond to my accusations . . . but was I really strong?

I doubted it. I truly doubted it. Sitting there, confronting the blood that my friends gave so I could finally defeat this horrid "disease," I did not feel a thread of strength in my body. I felt too weak to even reach out my hand and grab a packet, though each only weighed a few measly ounces.

"Did you expend your audacity already?" Alucard asked sourly as he watched me from the opposite end of the table. He was slouching back in his chair, and his eyes told me he was still mad at me.

"I never owned any to expend," I sighed and leaned back in my own chair. Living with me was extremely difficult sometimes.

"I beg to differ. I don't believe you've ever had the gall to interrupt me before," he mentioned.

"Well, I guess I did waste my little storage of boldness, then," I muttered.

"That's quite a pity, because that blood will soon grow stale and lose its flavor." He reached out a hand toward the bag labeled **PERRY, DANIKA**. "I don't think your friends will be pleased, but I guess it would only be suiting for me to polish this little offering off, as you would rather see it virtually deteriorate."

I lurched toward the packet for dear life, nearly knocking over the table in the process. He held it weakly in his hands, but I snatched it away, regardless. "You most certainly will not!"

"If it means that much to you, why are you so afraid to use it?"

I vacillated between running away and talking. After a few more seconds and disagreeing with my gut instinct, I decided. "Well, this is a big step for me to have to take . . . and my legs aren't nearly as long as yours."

"Scarlett, I've already taken this 'step,' as you call it," he reminded me. "I'm far beyond the indecision you're experiencing for an absolutely inane reason."

"Exactly! And it was probably a lot easier for you."

"Yes, it was."

"Because you have longer legs," I tried helping him understand my previous statement with a smile and encouraging voice.

"No, because I have more common sense." He remained without a grin. "You shouldn't be acting like this. You explained to me that you've, in a sense, renounced your Lord and are now trying to prove you can take care of yourself. Needless to say, you aren't doing a very good job."

I exhaled. He was right.

I returned to my seat, clutching the packet and examining the thick, gooey substance inside. It would be like drinking a milkshake, I suppose, since blood is thicker than water . . . and without the dairy taste, of course. . . .

"Stop stalling," he ordered.

_It's just like drinking a shake, Scarlett_, I tried mentally coaching myself. _No, it's like drinking a wine cooler! Not as inebriating, hopefully, but you get the point. Now just open your mouth and_. . . .

"It's generally easier if you don't use the tubing . . . unless you want to hurt your jaw while attempting to suck any out," Alucard instructed me just as I was about to conquer my fear and drink—from the straw-like fixture, of course.

_Minor setback. Just get on with it_, I told myself one more time. I held the packet up to my lips and—

"Oh, and do have a bit of class when you bite into the plastic. The last thing anyone needs is to have you spill half of your dinner down the front of your shirt," he interjected, again.

_Now, if he'd just stop INTERRUPTING ME_. . . . I thought a bit resentfully. I waited a couple of seconds for good measure—just in case there was something he forgot to point out—and when he remained quiet, I lifted the packet to my mouth and bit into the side with my teeth.

The flavor itself isn't easily expressible, for I think only a person who has sampled it while being a vampire could ever really know exactly the way someone's blood tastes. Danika's was a mixture of overpoweringly sweet lemonade in its sugariness, a mild hint of red bell pepper in its tang, and a dash of cinnamon fused with lime that made my lips pucker in its aftertaste. Despite the odd concoction my description may have just conjured, her blood was actually one of my favorites to drink. It was neither too sweet nor too sour, and it was definitely something I never would have imagined.

"I'm guessing by how easily you've taken to Perry's," Alucard said suddenly, "that she's a virgin."

I remembered reading in the manga how Integra told Seras that a virgin's blood was the easiest to sit with, so I knew close to immediately what my master was talking about. However, I also hoped that Danika was a virgin before even considering drinking her blood; she and Ross hadn't been a couple for that long, and he was her first boyfriend.

I ducked down my head a little to hide my flushed face. I guess Alucard sensed my discomfort, for he added, "That means, if she remains chaste, you'll be able to turn her if she was to teeter on life and death."

"No," I said quickly. "I would never condemn her to this . . . unless she absolutely desired it, and wasn't scared off after a warning of how terrible this can get."

I looked down to the packet in my hand and was about to take another sip before I saw it was empty. I suddenly felt rapacious in my desire for more blood. I really was starving, and if Alucard touched another one of my packets, I was bound to start freaking out.

To prevent such an embarrassing display of raw deprivation, I grabbed the second bag in the box. This time it was labeled **RAMIREZ, DESDEMONA**. Hopefully, Dez's blood would be as easy to handle as Danika's, I thought.

Fortunately, Desdemona's blood was actually sweeter than Danika's: it was more of an Arnold Palmer, as it tasted like both sweetened iced tea and lemonade, and there wasn't any taste of bell pepper or anything with a mild zing. The saccharine part of a human's blood (which usually is very faint) was overpowering. I wouldn't have been surprised if I developed an instant cavity.

In fact, the most unsettling blood I forced myself into drinking was that of Adrina's. It was like the most intense vodka, which went down my throat anything but smoothly. Or, to be more exact, it was like a mix of vodka, whiskey, and any other spirits that you might think of that are so horribly disgusting to the untrained tongue. Just one gulp—a very large gulp—of her blood was enough to make me gag.

I pushed back from the table ferociously and put my head between my knees, my throat stinging like mad. My coughs were rough like sandpaper and so loud that my ears began to ring.

"I take it Moretti's blood isn't the most appetizing?" I could barely hear Alucard over my wheezing.

I coughed a bit before answering, "Not unless you like shredded throats."

I could hear the grin in his voice as he said, "Actually, I do, and I'm a bit surprised you don't."

I lifted my head from between my knees, although I was a bit dizzy and felt a bit lethargic. I pushed the not even half-empty packet toward Alucard. "I'm sorry, but drinking that is like eating gravel."

Needless to say, Alucard finished it off in a few swallows. I must have stared for a good minute in awe before he said, "Just as I suspected. She lost her 'purity' a few years ago . . . and had Scotch earlier this morning. It's no wonder you were disgusted."

"You can really tell all of that just by drinking a little of her blood?"

"Of course." He waited a moment before continuing, contemplating something. "Then again, I've been 'studying' this type of thing for a very long time."

His eyes traveled to the last packet in the cardboard box, then to me. "Well?"

I shrugged. "I don't know . . . it seems like I drank a bit fast."

"Of course you did: you were starving yourself for an insane amount of time."

"I know, but . . . when I get done this last packet. . . ." I faltered, ". . . well, I know I'm still going to want blood."

"Such is the reason why we have so much here, my dear," Alucard smiled as he motioned his hand to the buckets resting on the table next to my box.

"I told you before I don't like medical blood," I sighed.

His smile faded. "What the hell do you call the 'beverages' you just consumed?"

"I know they're medical blood, but . . . they're also my friends' blood. That makes it different."

"It's extracted, packaged, and prepared the same way as any blood you'd receive from Hellsing's hospital wing," he sneered. "The only difference is the doctors didn't run extensive tests on your friends before they donated . . . and I assure you, all blood you'll ever drink here that runs through the normal procedure is processed before served. We vampires are treated with respect.

"So if you wish to get technical," he smirked, "you're taking more of a risk drinking your friends' blood than you would be this 'medical blood' over here."

"Maybe I like taking risks," I retorted, running out of smart comments.

"If you liked taking risks, you wouldn't be whining to me about your fear of drinking unknown blood. You would have snatched up several packets by now and would be on your way to your room, exhausted."

I narrowed my eyes and pushed back from the table. "Going to my room sounds like a very good idea." I snatched up Berke's packet and headed for the dungeon door. "Goodbye, Alucard."

* * *

**Surprisingly, I wasn't followed to my room, and he never showed up in my room** after I left him. Despite the fact that I left the dungeon on my own, I was actually troubled he didn't decide to drop in on me or at least ask me to stay with him. I shoved the blood packet into a pocket of a coat hanging in my wardrobe for safekeeping and crashed onto my bed miserably. When my vision fogged up a little, I hid my face under my pillow.

At that time, I didn't care that I was going to stain the sheets with my messy, maroon tears or that I was acting like—I admit it—a brat. I was just angry . . . and in spite of how I treated Alucard, I was angry with _myself_.

What was I so afraid of? Hadn't I learned by now? I'd been living with this sickness for over a month now, and my mentality hadn't changed a bit. I was living in a dream, a dream that would never become reality. Still, just like I've always done, I imagined myself bringing the dream to life. For some reason, I thought I had just as much power over my life as, say, God.

I didn't deserve to be here, I thought, or to have such a relationship with Alucard as I did. There were plenty of girls I knew back home that would swoon if that close to him, despite how ruthless a vampire he is. Lo and behold, I am allowed to visit his chambers whenever I want and actually kissed him once. What the hell did I have to complain about?

Oh, boo-hoo, I had to drink a bit of blood to stay healthy. That's like complaining about eating vegetables when you're a child or not wanting to swallow your daily vitamin supplement because of the aftertaste. It's immature and selfish.

I remained on my bed for a while, hungry but too upset to eat.

When I settled down slightly, I pushed myself off the bed and into the bathroom. I took a long, hot shower to get rid of the grimy feeling I seemed to acquire after crying for a good amount of time—especially when those tears are blood. When I was done, I decided to face myself.

After drying off my body, putting on a robe, and flipping my hair up into a towel, I stepped in front of the full-length mirror I'd purchased recently and had placed to the far end of the bathroom. I hadn't used the mirror yet . . . in fact, ever since my operation, I hadn't the guts to stare in the mirror. I hadn't even put on makeup in a while, other than lip gloss, which I can put on with my eyes closed.

Now was the time to look. If I wanted to stop acting like a baby and grow up, I had to do this: face my fears.

I started by just looking at my frame. I'd lost weight, I saw, and it showed. I was able to tie my robe frighteningly tightly, and my arms were lankier than I remembered. My cheekbones were beginning to show, and my eyes and head looked larger than normal. I looked a little better than a stick-figure.

I stepped closer to the mirror to get a better view of my face. My eyes were rimmed with bright red from the salt of tears (even as a vampire), my lips stuck out like neon lights against the pale color of my skin, and I had bruised, purplish rings under my eyes. There was a bit-more-than-fine scar lining the left side of my forehead that cut into my hairline, just above my temple. My eyes, I suddenly saw, were bloodshot.

As if that was not demoralizing enough, I knew I was not done. There were things I hadn't seen since I left the hospital wing . . . things that would make me realize for sure that there's no going back from where I stood.

I started by rolling up the flimsy sleeves of my robe. Slowly, I revealed (without the aid of my mirror) the scars I bore from the skin graphs. My wrists looked like a skin-colored patchwork quilt, with differently pigmented squares of skin. None of the flesh on my wrists matched the flesh on my arms . . . which was to be expected, I suppose. I had cadaver skins on me, and none of the donors were of relation to me. In fact, I didn't know where any of the flesh came from, except for the generalization of corpses.

My stomach had begun to fall toward my knees, but I held in the sore nausea at the mess I'd become until I was done . . . and I was far from being finished.

Next were my ankles. I had to watch my figure in the mirror this time, so I continually twirled as I tried to examine every angle of my scars. They were the same as my wrists: some patches were tan, some were pale, some were grey, others were almost bluish. The thick veins that actually stuck out over my ankle bones were gone, or "redirected" as the doctors said. Still, I didn't feel these were my ankles I was looking at . . . although I knew deep down they were. I felt tears swelling at my core.

_This is the last one_, I told myself, I guess as some form of reassurance. I don't know why I lied to myself—I knew this was going to be the most painful.

I stepped forth toward the mirror, willing against the weakness in my knees. Gradually, as if to soften the shock, I tugged at the part of my robe covering my chest.

Then, I saw it.

It was staring back at me, with its invisible, mocking, piercing beady eyes. I could feel the irises drilling into me as I read the inscription: **Vatican, Iscariot Section XIII**. I could feel my skin melting again under that vicious silver cross, burning into my flesh for all of eternity the name of my enemy.

The cross was an evil, unnatural indentation of my breast. It was ugly and pale, with the gross, pinkish tint of a scar. It stripped me not of just skin, but of beauty. How could I be beautiful if I had a cicatrice from my clavicle to my nipple? How could that possibly be attractive?

I took off the towel from my hair and threw it at the mirror, and it covered my image for a few seconds before falling limply at my feet. I didn't want to punch the glass, since I knew that would just result in a bleeding, shredded hand and expensive shards of a broken mirror. So I just sank to the floor and hid my face behind my hair, which was still damp and stringy.

I sat there, on the blue-and-white linoleum, for what felt like a long time, just crying. Tiny droplets of maroon began to spackle the floor. They eventually formed great puddles surrounding me like a moat of blood, engulfing me in the lack of self-worth.

Looking into the mirror for the first time in ages, I realized how dramatically I had changed since not just my life before England, but since my arrival at Hellsing's headquarters. I had gone from a composed, fun-loving, rather normal teenager to a cross of mortal and undead to my final state: a weeping, confused, lonesome child of the night who did not deserve such a title. I didn't deserve to be called a vampire—vampires were strong, after all, and they did not act like humans when concerning their emotions.

But there I was. I had already consumed of a reasonable amount of blood to be considered truly "reborn," and yet I was the same Scarlett Vera Cross I'd been since the start.

Why hadn't my friends abandoned me . . . no, why did they change their minds? Why was Berke so sweet to someone who looked to be in slightly better shape than a skeleton? And how did Alucard, my former Master, gaze at me and tell me that I'm "irresistible"?

I truly was baffled.

"Why do you think I told you to drink?" I heard a voice saying to me. "It was painful to look at you, knowing that you had no idea. . . ."

I didn't part the hair from my eyes or lift my head for a better view. I knew who it was, and while I was sort of relieved to have him talking to me, I didn't want to speak to him in my current condition. He didn't need to know how piteous I really was.

"Scarlett," he said, "you don't have to be ashamed of what you are. For once, don't apologize for something you can't control."

"Please leave," I practically pleaded. "Don't look at me."

I heard his footsteps drawing close to me, but I was too worn out to move. Quickly, I found myself gulped up by his shadow.

"Let me help you up." I saw his hand through the strands of hair covering my face.

". . . Please," was all I could say. "Please don't."

I saw him crouch before me and kneel on one knee. He outstretched a hand and parted my hair, which made me flinch back, as if that would help conceal me. Still, he succeeded in touching the side of my face.

"Scarlett, you may be frustrating," he began, but then suddenly added, "but I've got all the time in the world, and I've had it for many centuries. I won't give up on you."

I bit my lip so I wouldn't cry. It started to bleed a little, but I didn't care: I could hardly feel it.

"I usually don't enjoy dealing with the emotional aspects of women," Alucard sighed. "However, I can see that you've neglected this side of you for quite some time. You tend to store your feelings in fear of the consequences. The way you're biting your lip right now gives it away."

He tilted my chin up so I looked at him. "In other words, you need this terribly."

I diverted my eyes, but I caught a glimpse of him scanning the floor. I was sure the pools of blood stole his attention when he mentioned, "Now honestly, you need to move away from this mess."

We moved from my bathroom to my bedroom. I sat down on my bed while Alucard pulled up a chair in front of me. He stared at me for a second before starting.

"I've thought over your options at this point." He stopped for a minute, perhaps for dramatic effect. "You are very limited, but I have a few ideas."

I nodded my head, to which he replied, "Have you finished off Mitchells . . . his blood, that is?"

I shook my head that time, and whispered that it was in my coat pocket.

"Well, when you do finish his donation—and I'm hoping that will be sometime tonight—you may finally become a true vampire.

"As you may have realized," he spoke slowly, "you certainly haven't undergone that rite just yet."

I sighed and told him that I supposed that was the case. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to my words, however, for he continued nearly immediately:

"If you still do not experience some sort of change after that consumption, however, you have two alternatives: accept the medical blood and drink of that until you mature, or find a donor who is willing to sacrifice as much blood as needed.

"As you probably are considering the second alternative right now, let me inform you that another vampire would be your safest bet. You won't be persecuted for murdering the innocent, if in fact you need that much blood. Nonetheless, you will need enough strength at the time to force yourself onto that vampire. At your current state, even a mediocre undead would cause quite a struggle."

I stared at my feet as I listened to Alucard, not wanting to understand what he was saying. I _was_ going to need more blood, I just knew it . . . and I was going to hurt someone in order to get it.

"Don't consider it harming another person. It's essential to the food chain that something dies in order to feed a superior race if needed," he answered my thoughts. "Unless you're a vegetarian or vegan . . . and you don't have that choice."

"I don't know," I exhaled. "Who knows when I'll get the chance to take down a vampire that I can actually defeat, and then have time to feed afterward?"

He was quiet for a bit before adding softly, "Well, there is one other way."

I looked up.

"You can drink my blood."

I was almost embarrassed to look at him then. Hadn't he done enough for me already?

* * *

**I did drink Berke's blood later that night, and it wasn't enough.**

* * *

**I found myself staring at Alucard's bare, outstretched throat. **I was acting ever-so-carefully, mindful of every move should I make a mistake. The moonlight lit up his pale skin in my eyes, and I was just about fearful to approach him. I placed my hand at the back of his neck uneasily and began to lean in.

That was about as personal as things could get.


	15. Blood Binges and Door Hinges

_A/N: I'm deeply sorry I let this story lay dormant for so long. I've had a lot of problems with my family lately, and then I had final exams to worry about, so I haven't had much motivation to write. However, everything seems to be a little brighter now, and thanks to Lunatic Pandora1 for helping me through a case of writer's block, I'll try to update more often. I hope this chapter makes up a bit for the months you guys have waited._

_As always, thanks for reading._

* * *

**I hovered with my face above Alucard's neck, **gazing at the thin, delicate, pale skin in doubt. I'd never given a hickey before, let alone a bite deep into someone's jugular . . . and yet my master suggested that I do the latter so casually, it made my insides tingle. I'd refused medical blood, so my friends made generous donations for me. However, their blood was not enough to satiate my hunger or truly "free" me from the position as Alucard's fledgling. So, knowing I still snarled at the sight of packaged blood, he suggested I'd drink from him . . . directly. 

It didn't matter that I could crush something, seeing as his larynx or trachea or whatever my teeth could shatter would heal in a matter of seconds after I'd finished feeding. It didn't matter that I would have my teeth far into his skin and veins, which would hurt for anyone, even if it would probably only faze Alucard mildly. No, this was for my benefit, and nothing mattered more than quenching my thirst and releasing me from Alucard's side.

Vampires truly are twisted, morbid creatures, if I do say so myself.

"I know my throat is fascinating, but could you stop staring and bite already?" Alucard's grumble of a voice broke me from my usual contemplation.

I flushed . . . well, I would have, if my blood flowed. "I've never done this before."

"I know. However, it comes naturally enough. Once you begin, you'll find the rhythm that will stay with you for the rest of time."

I felt my inner pessimist rear her ugly head inside my mind. "The rest of time" seemed like an awfully long time to live . . . and I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it alone. It was depressing to know I didn't have a choice.

"Scarlett?"

I shook my head, hoping to scatter my thoughts, and smiled. "Sorry. I have a habit of staring off into space."

"Amazing; I hadn't noticed," he said with a smirk.

"Very funny." I stepped back and took in a deep breath, letting my shoulders rise and fall in the process. "I'm feeling extremely dubious."

Alucard sat up and put a hand to my shoulder. "Don't be. This isn't nearly as hard as you're making it."

"Are you sure I'm dressed formally enough, though?" I fanned my hands out and emphasized my outfit. "This is a very big moment, after all."

He smiled. "My only other suggestion is a birthday suit. That would be rather interesting."

I felt my eyes begging to bulge out of their sockets. "No thank you, Master. I'd rather you keep your clothes on."

"I was talking about _you_ . . . but what's wrong with me?" He pretended to look offended with a facial expression and the crossing of his arms.

I pursed my lips. "Please, just drop the subject."

Now, he looked serious. "Only if you bite me right now, without hesitation."

I perched my hands on my hips. "What will you do if I don't?"

"I'm not sure you'd like to know." There wasn't a thread of humor on his face, which made my body stiffen.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise, my dear." He lowered his voice. "And, as fair warning, I will inform you I'm not well-known for kindness or mercy."

I pictured human shish kebabs. "Yeah, I've heard that much."

Even though I didn't really want to now, I approached him, not really wanting to find out if Alucard was just trying to spook me or if he really meant it. He said he wouldn't kill me, as I was still his fledgling, but . . . what else could he possibly be suggesting? A few seconds later, I realized I didn't want to think about it.

Coming back to the present, I was standing right next to him, hardly a millimeter between us. I learned quickly that you had to get quite close to someone if you intended to feed from them, and my situation with Alucard was no exception. If I maybe had the strength the pin him against a wall and was tall enough to reach his neck with my feet on the ground, I could probably have a good distance between us, but that wasn't possible. I wasn't going to grow that much, ever, and if I pinned Alucard to a wall, he would only be playing nice by allowing me to do so.

So, I was back at my old stance, standing at his side while Alucard sat in a chair with his head tilted back to allow me room for my mouth. I rested one hand on his chest and cradled the back of his head with the other, which felt very odd. I wasn't exactly used to Alucard being so . . . open, with most of his guarded nature momentarily gone. It was very weird, holding him in my hands, ready to take a bite. For some reason, it seemed to make more sense if it were the other way around.

Despite my inner feelings on the matter, I hushed my forever active imagination and skepticism, and leaned in for the bite. I opened my mouth slowly, as if that would ease me into baring down my fangs into what would soon be my former master's throat. I was beginning to waver.

Then, I felt Alucard's hand at the back of my skull, and he pushed my fangs into his neck in a matter of seconds.

I've always been skittish, so the sudden movement made me want to recoil and cower in a corner until my mind stopped racing—but Alucard kept his hand on my head, holding it gently but firmly in place, most likely waiting until I relaxed.

I tried not to focus on anything but how weird this was, and how it couldn't possibly be enjoyable to feed off someone . . . yet when I tried inhaling a breath to calm me through my mouth, I ended up getting a mouthful of Alucard's blood. I swallowed it before I'd realized what I'd done. My master's grip started to loosen, but I didn't care and took another gulp; an immense, undeniable craving had sparked within me. His hand eventually fell and landed at his side, but I hardly noticed.

The entire experience was surreal, and far better than sipping from any packet of chilled medical blood. Alucard's blood wasn't as easily categorized like my friends, which I supposed made sense. He'd lived for over five centuries, undoubtedly drinking from an unfathomable amount of people along the way, so it only made sense that his own blood was a gigantic blend of that all. The single taste of his very own blood was probably lost hundreds of years ago, right after he first fed. Regardless, it wasn't repugnant like Adrina's, or unbearably sweet like Desdemona's . . . it had its very own flavor. A signature taste that I hoped I would remember for the rest of my existence.

You see, I didn't want to cringe, gag, or go into a series of spasms from his blood's taste. Each sip was followed by a more eager sip, which turned to slurps, which turned to ravenous, greedy gulps that were only succeeded by more gulps. I found that it was nearly impossible to stop myself from drinking once I'd started, but that didn't scare me. I didn't care that I'd become addicted so swiftly. I just wanted more.

* * *

**Suddenly, I felt a fierce hand yanking my hair from the nape of my neck, **which made me pull away from Alucard instantly and yelp. I was released immediately after and fell to the floor, but I made a very sour face while I wiped my mouth and rubbed the tender spot at the edge of the hairline on my neck. 

Alucard sat up lethargically and held his throat. He looked very tired . . . dare I say, drained. "Do you not consider angry grunts and mental threats to be alarming, Scarlett?"

I looked at him, sore and bemused. "What are you talking about?"

He just stared at me, resentment written in bold letters across his face. "You can irrevocably harm someone if you take too much blood, and that applies to humans _and_ vampires."

"I know," I scowled.

"Well, apparently, you are capable of forgetting something so rudimentary effortlessly."

I stood up and crossed my arms. "Oh, well excuse me for becoming absorbed in the moment. It's not my fault your blood tastes the way it does."

He returned my annoyed gestures with a grimace. "You're right, but haven't you heard of self-control?"

"I wish you could try to restrain yourself while drinking your blood. It isn't easy!"

"I think I could manage."

"It's your own blood; of course _you_ could manage," I scoffed. "If you were in my shoes, however, it would not seem so simple."

He grinned with mockery. "If I were in your shoes, I'd be very short, stubborn, and clumsy."

That was it.

I stormed over to my door in a huff, grabbing the doorknob with a sullen, violent yank . . . which I regretted almost immediately. Finally deciding to get rid of a nasty case of bloodlust must have increased my strength by who knows how many times, and the fact that I was seeing red didn't help, either. I pulled the door toward me to open it, but I must have used too much force; the door broke off its hinges with one quick tug, and I found myself holding my bedroom door in my hands, completely separated from the wall.

Any language that I'd ever learned evaded me. I simply stood there, my eyes wide open, my jaw hanging limply, all while Alucard watched with amusement.

"As I've said, you're clumsy," he chuckled, and I felt like hurtling the door at him, just to make myself feel a little better.

However, I didn't give myself the chance; the next voice I heard came from the hallway, and it didn't ridicule me.

"Miss Cross?" Walter sounded very confused, and looked as much; his eyes were almost as wide as mine, and his eyebrows were bent in the most curious way.

I choked on my words and made little fragments of sounds until a short sentence accented by the cracking of my voice was edged out. "The door hinges kind of broke off."

"I can see that," Walter told me in a light tone, as if he was still soaking in my little accident.

I could hear Alucard's laughter intensify in the background, and I tightened my fingers on the doorknob. Luckily, Walter spoke to me before I dented the doorknob as well.

"Did you just finish drinking, Miss Cross?"

I hesitated. "Yeah. . . ."

"Well, that explains it," he said to himself in a tired way, then sighed. "I'll have your door fixed by noon tomorrow, but please, try to be more careful now that you're a true vampire. I've heard you're rather easy to upset, and now that you're no longer a fledgling, your temper is going to be worse. However, you have excuse to go around damaging this mansion."

"Yes, I know," I murmured, the fluttering feeling of humiliation consuming my stomach.

He began walking again. "Good evening, Miss Cross."

I stared at the door in my hand, then the threshold where it should be, and I cursed under my breath. It had already been hard enough being human and being temperamental. Now, I needed to limit my anger's level, or I'd end up punching the side of an SUV and putting a hole through it.

"Why didn't I destroy things before?" I wondered out loud.

"You were relatively mild-mannered," Alucard responded, even though the question was supposed to be rhetorical.

"I wasn't asking you," I muttered. Now, where would you put a door when it's not in the doorway?

Without fair warning, I heard a loud guffaw and gasp from the hallway again. Judging by how refined most people usually behaved at the Hellsing mansion, that only meant the speakers were my friends.

I exhaled a long, frustrated breath and looked out into the hall. Standing in front of my room with the silliest of expressions were Adrina and Danika.

"Nice going, Scarlett!" Adrina called, even though there couldn't have been ten meters between us. "Could you maybe do that to the guy's locker room later? I'd love to see how many of those soldiers wear whitey-tighties."

I hoped no one had heard her.

"What I wanna know is, what did the door ever do to you?" Danika cried, then crossed her arms with a pout. "As if it's not enough that the world wastes paper every day, but you had to go and harm a perfectly defenseless door!"

"It's just a big slab of wood, Danika," I sighed, leaning the door against a wall in my room. I turned to Alucard and asked, "I should probably go out there and talk to them, shouldn't I?"

He smiled. "I suppose. They are _your_ friends, after all."

My stomach tangled into a embarrassment knot. "Thanks for reminding me."

* * *

**I walked as slowly as I my legs would allow, **but eventually, I reached the two girls. I normally didn't see them on this floor, but I wasn't really in the mood for asking them why they decided to take a little tour of the mansion. All I wanted to do was exchange a few words and hopefully go back to my room before I found some other way to mortify myself. 

"So, how's it going?" Adrina inquired casually and leaned back on her heels. Her hands were stuffed into the deep pockets of her jeans, and a red hoodie was clinging to her torso while her dark hair collected around her shoulders.

"I'm all right, I guess," I answered faintly.

"Enough chit-chat. What gives you the right to mistreat doors?" Danika appeared so serious, I was afraid to wonder if she really wasn't kidding.

"I have a short fuse," I reminded her as I swung my left leg slowly and kept the other planted firmly on the tiled floor.

Her chocolate eyes narrowed. "You've always had a short fuse, but this cruelty toward inanimate objects is new."

"A lot of things are new with me," I shrugged.

Danika's eyes relaxed to their normal width, and she ran a hand through her blonde hair. "Like what?"

Couldn't we have this conversation later, like during lunch at the mess hall?

I immediately saw why that wouldn't work, ever. My schedule was going to be flip-flopped completely, so all of my morning duties would occur during the night, and the only person I would be dining with would be myself . . . unless I felt like visiting Alucard. Now that I'd become what you'd consider a "real" vampire, things were going to be very different—which meant it was going to be harder than ever to keep in touch with my friends.

If I didn't talk now, who knew how long it would be until I had the chance again?

Still, I could feel the night fading, and I couldn't afford to miss an ounce of sleep the next morning. I needed to gain some experience when it came to day-slumbering, and the first twenty-four hours of my permanent unlife seemed to be the perfect place to start.

"I'm sorry guys. We'll have to talk some other time," I said in haste. "Once the sun comes up, I want to be in bed."

Danika looked lost for a moment, but she recovered quickly. "You really drank tonight, didn't you?"

I couldn't work up the courage to smile. "Yeah, I did."

Neither Adrina nor Danika seemed happy.

"Well, I suppose it was inevitable," Danika said with a sigh. "You had to leave us sometime, didn't you?"

"Hey, I'm still here." I tried to sound as soothing as possible. "It will just be a bit more complicated for us to hang out anymore."

Adrina sniffled. "My little girl's all grown up . . . and has officially left the living." She threw herself at me with a hug. "I'm so proud!"

"Oh, stop," I giggled, but I returned her embrace. "It really isn't that big of a deal."

Time seemed to stop. When the clock hands began moving again and all action was restored, Danika and Adrina were both before me, raw disbelief plastered to their faces.

"After all the fussing you did, it 'isn't that big of a deal'?" Danika looked painfully incredulous. "Did you hit yourself in the head when you jerked that door out of the wall?"

"No, I think her circulation stopping caused her brain to shut down!" Adrina replied before she broke into a belly laugh.

I shook my head dismissively and returned to my room, ready to call it a night and catch up on the sleep I'd been missing.

* * *

**I never imagined a vampire could have insomnia.**

Alucard was waiting in my room when I came in from the hall, and I was so tired I actually apologized for my rude behavior without Alucard having to bring it up. Truth be told, I only said I was sorry so he would leave, seeing as I knew his ego would swell if I admitted my faults. Once his hubris had puffed up to a size that fit his liking for the time being, he would give me a sly grin and leave my room with kind parting words. He would think he'd succeeded in whipping me into shape, when really, I was just too worn out to fight.

My predictions had been right, for as soon as I looked guilty and pretended to relieve my conscience, Alucard vacated my room and left me to bask in the moonlight alone. I changed from my robe (which I suddenly realized I was still wearing) into blue flannel pajamas, and nestled into my normal spot on my bed. I allowed myself to unwind on my bed for a few minutes as I marveled at how defined the moon looked that night, and how everything seemed to be so much brighter.

It didn't take long for me to grow sleepy. That was when the trouble began.

I would sleep for a few minutes, then wake up with what felt like a metal spring pushing on my spine. I would wriggle around momentarily, then fall asleep again, only to wake up again when my side ached from the lumpy mattress. It was strange that it gave me so much discomfort, as I'd been fine the many other times I'd slept on my bed, but I wasn't about to waste valuable time tossing and turning. There was a pattern growing, I could feel it. If I kept this up, the sun would be sparkling through my window before I gained an pinch of shuteye.

That only left me two options. I could see how Seras was doing and ask if I could board with her that night, but honestly, I didn't know Seras well enough to work up the courage to do so. Besides, she could already be sound asleep, and I didn't want to bother her. I wasn't thrilled about finding out if she was a grouch like me if disturbed while in a pleasant dreaming episode.

Alucard, on the other hand, I didn't mind bugging. I'd visited him on occasions much later than it was at the moment, so there was only a small possibility that he was already resting. All I would have to do is make that long, winding, weary voyage across several floors, down many flights of steps (any elevator this mansion had was probably shut down by now), then across a dark, eerie hallway until I reached his dungeon room's door.

_Well, it's a good thing I'm not tired_, I thought sarcastically as I lifted out of bed. I went in the bathroom to brush my hair into a ponytail, knowing that I probably had a massive case of bedhead. Then, I searched for my black slippers and grabbed a pillow and blanket from my bed.

Already dreading the walk, I headed out.

* * *

**Ordinarily, it took quite a while to reach Alucard's room **without using any wall-traveling abilities, of which I had none. Now that I was physically wiped out, the journey seemed even longer. I dragged my feet and clutched my pillow weakly, contemplating whether I should keep going or plop down against a corner, carefully out of the sun's light, and sleep. It felt like a geological era had passed me by when I finally reached the heavy dungeon door and stumbled down the steep stairs into Alucard's room. 

Luckily, I caught him just as he was about to settle into his expansive "bed." I'd always thought the invention was odd: a four-post bed shaped like a coffin, complete with a remote-controlled top that closed down on the vampire like a conventional casket. I didn't have one in my own room, seeing as I was a human for such a long time. Whenever I was in my vampire form, I wouldn't sleep until I had relapsed into my human side; it was pointless to slumber if I was going to wake up violently minutes later.

However, I'd often seen this bed whenever I visited Alucard in his room and found my eyes wandering as he lectured on something very boring. Such a bed was definitely modern, but it always looked so weird to me. Perhaps that' simply because I've slept in an open, built-for-mortals bed my entire life . . . up until now.

Would I have the same contraption in my room now?

"It's very late," he said, scattering my thoughts and knocking me back into reality.

Alucard was laying on his side, his arm propped up on one elbow while the attached hand held his head. He was dressed solely in his signature black pants and a white, silk undershirt. His gloves were gone, revealing long, slender fingers, but his hair and eyes remained the same; the hair, forever shaggy, paired with perpetual bedroom eyes.

"Yeah, I know." A yawn escaped my lips. "I can't get to sleep."

He gave me a sleepy smile. "Your old bed is giving you trouble."

I nodded, trying to hold myself up on my feet. "Would you mind if I slept here toni—I mean, this morning?"

"No, I wouldn't mind," he said with a chuckle.

"Thanks."

I proceeded to cross the room to his throne. Feeling especially small in such a large chair, I lay my head on my pillow and draped the blanket over my legs. My eyes closed gratefully on the room, but I hadn't yet slipped into a dream when I felt a hand at my arm.

I peeked through one eye at Alucard, standing in front of me rather than snoring in his bed. "Yes?"

"You'll never get the rest you need if you sleep in my chair," he explained, then pulled the blanket off me. I gasped and jumped up from the throne.

He held the blanket in one hand, but raised his arm up to the ceiling—clearly out of my reach. Still, I hopped up and down, cursing God and my genetics for gracing me with such short legs and big feet. Eventually, Alucard started laughing at my lack of height, so I plotted myself back in the throne and sulked.

"Meanie!" I grizzled. "All you are is an overgrown school grounds' bully with sharp teeth and red eyes."

He smirked. "You're just jealous of my height."

"I'm not jealous of anything," I corrected. "I want my blanket back; I'm tired."

"Wouldn't you rather sleep in a soft, comfortable bed than an old chair?"

I peered up at him through my lashes. "Yes."

"Well, the offer is open." He threw my blanket at me. "Unless you'd rather sleep in a throne twice your size."

I titled my head in disbelief. "I'm not going to make you sleep in this chair, Alucard."

"I'm not suggesting that we trade places; there's enough room in my bed for two."

Once again, if blood was coursing through these veins of mine, my cheeks would have blazed with color.

I fiddled with the blanket. "Uh, thanks, but no thanks."

"I won't bite, Scarlett." He leered. "At least not right now."

"Really, I'm fine."

He swaggered back to his bed, then sprawled out as if it was the most luxurious thing to lay upon. "Have it your way."

I could tell now if I didn't just go over and lay on the stupid bed with him, I would regret it by night. The sleep had to be of better quality where he lay, even if I had to share it.

I sighed, ditched the blanket and pillow, and stood beside his bed for a moment while I let him revel in his greatness.

"You won," I mumbled, attempting to cover up my surrender.

He flashed his pearly whites and patted the section of lining next to him. Reluctantly, I took the place beside Alucard, turned on my side, and carefully made certain there was enough room between us. Then, all my hard work was undone, as Alucard moved closer to me and rested a hand on my hip. Even if we had the same body temperature, I shivered.

"Good morning," Alucard whispered in my ear. The top began sliding down on top of us.

I wondered vaguely how my mother would feel about me sharing beds with strange people before I slipped into a pleasant sleep.


	16. Washroom Crimes

_**A/N:** I hope you like this newest chapter. I think this is the fastest I've ever updated for this story, so I'm crossing my fingers that the quality is consistent. Because I've found more time to write lately, I'll probably keep this quickness up, either with this fanfiction or my other._

_Anyway, enjoy._

* * *

"**Scarlett . . . Scarlett. . . ." **A voice was fading in and out of my consciousness. What felt like fingers were running through my hair, then I heard the voice softly calling my name again. "Scarlett. . . ." 

My eyes fluttered open, light piercing the sensitive corneas of my eyes. I realized that meant the lid was already up, but for some reason, the bed I remembered sleeping on was very hard, like marble. Well, at least there was silk to cushion my head . . . wait a minute, silk?

I felt around, touching the silk, then soft, smooth skin on what I guessed to be a hand. I brought my own hand up above my head and felt thick hair between my fingers, then skimmed my fingertips across that skin again—and received a delighted laugh that I immediately recognized.

I jumped up as fast as I could manage and found myself looking into the cherry-red, deeply amused eyes of none other than Alucard.

"Please, don't stop. I haven't had someone search my body so delicately in a very long time," he breathed with a sly smile painted across his lips.

That was it for me. I scurried away from him as quickly as I could manage, though it didn't exactly end too well; I tumbled off the bed and fell in a lopsided position that only continued to encourage Alucard's entertainment.

He peeked over the side of his bed at me. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see I still have that effect on women."

I was shaking. "Did you take advantage of my deep sleeping and make me wake up like that, just so you could test out your abilities?"

"No, I'm not that clever." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I suppose I am, but you clinging to me in your sleep was of your own accord."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"Believe me." He winked. "If something had happened between us, you'd remember."

Sweet Jesus. Had I really just shared the same bed with him?

"However, that is quite beside the point. You should be preparing for tonight." Alucard lifted from his bed with a great stretch, then proceeded to flop down in his throne after handing me my blanket and pillow.

"Right." I looked at the small dining table, and judging by the absence of pails filled with blood packets, Walter had yet to visit. "I'll stop by later. . . .?"

"Of course. How else would you dine?"

Good point.

* * *

**I suppose my energy refill had helped to make the journey **across the Hellsing mansion much shorter—although it would have been nicer if the elevator wasn't out-of-order. Still, it wasn't like I didn't need the workout, even though my slippers made it hard to walk across the newly-polished floor. There isn't exactly much friction between fabric and tile, and I happened to pick slippers made out of material very close to chenille. 

Anyway, if I had taken the elevator, I probably wouldn't have run into Walter. Sure, I might have seen him in Alucard's room, but it is sometimes nice to talk without said vampire hovering about.

Walter greeted me in his usual manner, and I returned the gesture with a yawn and a tired stretch—not exactly a classy move, but I don't believe I've ever been too good at impressing people with my actions. Thankfully, he didn't seem to mind, and only told me that my door was fixed. . . .

". . . .Unfortunately, we have a bit of a shortage concerning the four-post coffins." He sighed. "You'll have to board with Miss Victoria or Alucard again. We'll have your own bed in soon, but I can't confirm the exact date. Sir Integra is very persuasive, but the deliveries seem to come whenever they want, regardless."

I could have told the truth and asked Walter if he knew how it felt to wake up with Alucard grinning at you like a pesky little brother that stuck live frogs in your pillowcases, waiting for you to turn the lights out in your room so he can hear you shriek . . . but I held my tongue and simply said, "Thank you, Walter."

"There's no reason to thank me; I can only imagine how it must be to wake up with. . . ." He smiled to himself and started walking in the opposite direction. "Good evening, Miss Cross."

"Good evening," I repeated, wondering what Walter was going to say but left out. Then, judging by the texture of his grin, it was probably best I didn't know.

* * *

**I checked out my door's new hinges while I entered, **and even if the old ones were in nearly perfect condition, I liked the feel of the new ones; my door swung back and forth effortlessly. I practiced opening and closing the door a few times before I realized people might actually stare at me because of such actions, seeing as it probably wasn't every day a Hellsing private went around playing with doors, watching the hinges move soundlessly in awe. I was tempted to run across the hall and test out how much better my own hinges worked compared to another person's door, but I decided against it. 

Instead, I moved to my closet and took out a uniform the same as all my others and stretched my way into a shirt, socks, and pants. I had a few skirts in my closet from my beginning at Hellsing, but ever since my "branding," I liked to cover up as much as possible. Also, I had a habit of getting gunpowder on my thigh-highs or getting part of them caught on something and ripping a hole in the side.

I even managed to get blood on a pair once, when I'd smacked my nose into an open locker door in the girl's locker room. I didn't break anything, but my white nylons—not to mention my once-pristine uniform—had various speckles of maroon that matched my bright red nose and teary eyes, but didn't go too well with the idea that Hellsing's soldiers were amongst the finest the world could offer.

Needless to say, I mostly wore pants now, and was very careful when dressing and otherwise maneuvering when in a room with open lockers.

After changing, I brushed my hair and shuffled into the bathroom to brush my teeth and apply makeup.

I didn't really "eat" anything that could cause plaque, but I'd smelled Alucard's breath before when I was human, and the scent of old blood isn't very attractive—especially when it comes out someone's mouth. I carefully rinsed, making sure I didn't swallow enough water to burn my throat too badly. Afterward, I opened my medicine cabinet, took out my cosmetics, and went through with the ordinary routine.

The entire activity would have gone totally smoothly, if I hadn't made one mistake. As soon as I'd opened my mascara and held it up to my right eye's upper lashes, I accidentally dropped the applicator. Normally, that wouldn't be too big a deal, but when my hand slipped, the applicator shot in a straight line and plummeted down the sink's drain.

I groaned, then searched for a possible extra case of mascara in the medicine cabinet. Of course, I came up fruitlessly, and being my typically impulsive, hot-tempered self, I slammed the door-like mirror shut. Only it didn't just shut, but whammed into the wall with such impact that it broke into tiny little shards that collected in the sink.

"Damn it!" I muttered and kicked the pipes connecting the sink into the wall.

The ceramic sink clashed with the tile floor with a rattling shake, and water from the busted pipes began spurting everywhere—on the ceiling, in the tub, in my eyes, on my clothes. Quickly, I grabbed a few washcloths out of the pantry-like storage space next to the tub and rammed them into the pipes as far down as I could. The sprinkler-effect stopped, but I couldn't be too sure how long that would last.

I ran from the bathroom, swapped my top for a dry one, hopped into my boots, and put on my gloves as I jogged down the hallway. I needed to get back to Alucard's room before someone had time to connect me to the disaster.

* * *

**Alucard was sitting in his throne **and had just pierced the side of a packet with his teeth when I entered. He gulped down a good portion of the medical blood and inquired, "What did you do this time?" 

Play dumb. "Why do you ask?"

He took another swig and said, "You look guilty."

"I don't know why you would get that impression," I replied, secretly wringing my hands behind my back. "Can't I simply walk up to my room and come back here without destroying a bathroom or two?"

"Of course you can." He grinned as he flung the emptied packet onto the table and grabbed another. "To further prove my point, I would like to remind you that I never mentioned anything about a wrecked bathroom. Consequently, now that you've given yourself away, please explain how you battered and mauled this mansion yet again."

I shrugged and took a seat across from him at the table. "Fine. Yeah, I got a little aggressive with my bathroom's appliances."

He sipped. "Really?"

"Well, more than a little, I guess," I corrected myself as I stared down a packet of blood.

"How so?"

"First, I dropped my mascara's applicator down the drain of the sink. I searched for an extra, but I got a bit angry when I couldn't find any, so I shut the medicine cabinet's door hard—very hard. So hard that it shattered into little pieces."

Man, this sounded stupid, now that I was saying it out loud. "I immediately resented the fact that my extra strength is causing me to break things . . . so I kicked the sink's pipes, and they snapped and caused the sink to connect with the tile floor."

Yes, this sounded _really _stupid. "I then shoved washcloths into the pipes so they'd stop leaking and left after changing my wet shirt."

It was silent for a moment, and I could see Alucard struggling to swallow the blood in his mouth while laughter threatened to overtake him. He succeeded, but immediately after, he let out an uncontrollable guffaw that made me sink in my chair and long to disappear from view.

"You hate having so much power, so you completely demolish objects _using_ that power," he was talking to me, but it sounded more like he was trying to process his statement in his head. He chuckled, "Congratulations: that makes absolutely no sense."

I curled up in the chair and rested my chin on my knees. "I'm deeply grateful for your sympathy."

"Don't look so distraught, Scarlett. You were never this interesting when you were a human." I saw his eyes catch on something behind me. "Oh, hello, Walter. I didn't see you standing there."

I froze.

"Good evening, Alucard." Walter sounded tired—exactly as he had when I'd been a tad belligerent with my door. "Miss Cross, is what you said about your bathroom true?"

I peered around slowly, then gave my best efforts into making a smile. I ended up giving him an uneasy laugh. "That depends; how much did you hear?"

He tilted his head and gave me the same look my mother used to give me when I'd told a very bad lie. "I'm disappointed, Miss Cross. I told you to refrain from destroying this mansion."

"I didn't do it purposely." That was the truth.

"Intentions are not important in this matter." Walter shook his head. "You've ruined yet another section of this organization's headquarters. That's inexcusable."

My bottom lip quivered. "What are you going to do to me?"

In the background, I heard Alucard laugh. "What will he do to you? That's delightfully rich."

"What Alucard means to say, Miss Cross, is I do not have the authority to punish you." He smiled darkly. "This must be dealt with by the owner of this estate."

A chill rustled down my spine. "Sir Integra."

* * *

**I hadn't seen or talked to Sir Integra in what felt like forever. **The last time we'd had a conversation, I'd been an invalid in a section of the hospital wing, and the doctors were just trying to figure out what Iscariot had done to me. The last time I'd seen her was in the mess hall as I was relapsing, and the masses of soldiers were lined up to shoot me as soon as they were given the signal. 

She'd been fairly understanding with me so far, but I didn't know what to expect now. This was her home, a matter I'd never had to discuss before—not to mention she can be very scary if set off. So, after I drank with Alucard, I reported to her office before my new nightly training schedule needed me to head out to the grounds. I made sure my hair was in perfect order, that my skirt and shirt were spotless, and tried not to worry too much once Walter led me to her office.

He let himself in for a moment, then came back out and told me I was expected. I took a deep breath and parted the doors.

She sat calmly at her desk, a cigar perched between her lips and eyes lazily open behind large circular glasses. Her chair was reclined back slightly, and soft moonlight lit up her fair blonde complexion in all its glory. I found it amazing how much more beautiful things seemed to be at night now as a vampire than they had as a human.

"Miss Cross," she nodded in acknowledgment. "Take a seat."

I did as instructed. "It's a nice night, isn't it, sir?"

She remained placid. "I suppose so, Scarlett. No matter, I doubt Walter suggested I'd speak to you as soon as possible so we could sit here and have casual conversation."

"No, I don't suppose he did," I agreed faintly, looking over the fine wrinkles in my gloves at my knuckles.

"Well then, please explain this bathroom incident to me in your own words."

I informed Sir Integra with the same story I'd told Alucard, though I didn't feel nearly as comfortable talking to her about it as I did my former master. I could feel her eyes on me the whole time, and omitting the little slices I heard as she chopped off slivers of her cigar every now and then, she seemed to truly be focusing on each word that left my lips. The attention made me nervous, not to mention the fact that my excuse for terrorizing an innocent mirror and sink was pathetic.

"You are telling me the truth, Scarlett." Sir Integra's voice was so serious I felt myself wanting to squeal.

"Yes, sir." I tried to stop my voice was shaking.

"Well. . . ."

_This is it_, I told myself. _It's time to call in the troops, barricade the doors, and cower behind Capt. Bernadotte as Sir Integra gives me the chiding of my unlife. Perhaps I'll even call in Alucard, although he'll probably only sit back and enjoy the show as if this were really a theatrical performance. On second thought, leave him out of this. All I need is shield, and the captain is just the right size for that job_.

". . . .I've never had this problem with my men before, so I think I'll let you off easily this time, Scarlett." She smirked. "Besides, sharing a bed with Alucard is punishment enough, as far as I'm concerned."

I tried to hold my jaw in place, but it beckoned to meet the floor below it. Where was the drama, or the infamous wrath that sent shivers down every Hellsing soldier's spine whenever they thought of our chief?

"I'd have you replace the sink and medicine cabinet in your bathroom, but I'd rather such a job be handled by a professional. Just promise me that if you decide to break anything else in here, it isn't extremely valuable. Oh, and be sure to save up a bit of that anger for our enemies."

I smiled sheepishly. "I promise, sir."

She tapped her cigar against an ashtray and straightened in her chair. "That will be all."

* * *

**Capt. Bernadotte slouched against the chain-link fence** behind him as he finished off a nub of a cigarette. Our training session had just started a few minutes ago, but Capt. Bernadotte wanted to have a little talk with me after he explained his expectations for us that night. He led me outside the small room my fellow soldiers were currently in to keep the talk private. 

"So, you're the real deal now?"

"Yep." I tapped a loose pebble on the ground with the side of my boot, my hands in my pockets and eyes diverted from my captain's.

"No more sunlight, home-cooked meals, hard liquor . . . or breathing."

"That's pretty much the plan." I unearthed another stone with my heel.

"And you're okay with that," he added hesitantly.

I looked up. "Captain, I don't really have a choice. If I didn't choose this way of . . . existing . . . I'd be in agony, and not much help to the team."

He shrugged. "Well, that does make a bit of sense, besides the whole blood-drinking thing."

"It isn't really that bad." I looked away again. "The hardest part about it, actually, is stopping."

I heard him groan. "That's a big relief."

"Don't worry about it, captain. I would never feed from another soldier or officer."

He didn't say anything, so I brought my eyes to his level and saw he was just staring at me, skeptically.

"I mean it," I said, my blood pressure rising. "What, you can't trust me now that I'm a vampire, captain? Is that how this is going to be? Just because I don't have a pulse or eat the way you do, you think I'm a liar."

I took a step toward him. "The trivial fact that I'm undead changes everything about my personality and sacrifices the ability to keep my word. That's how it is now, right, captain?"

"Whoa, I didn't say any of that," he said, waving his hands in front of him. "Cool off, would you."

I didn't listen and had him pressed hard against the fence now, on my tiptoes to match his height. My fingers laced themselves into his shirt's collar, and I could smell the smoke on his breath. "I can't believe you'd be so—"

"Scarlett! Is this how you prove yourself, by trying to hurt me?"

That was a good point. He pushed me away desperately then, but only because I let him. I stared at the ground, wondering why it has to be this hard to control myself now just because I lacked such a small thing, like life. There was the fact that my unlife stemmed from Alucard's blood . . . I thought about that and cursed under my breath.

"You know, I could report you to Sir Integra for this," Capt. Bernadotte decided to remind me. I growled and glared up at him. "On second thought, why don't you just go work now and I'll keep this between us?"

"Of course," I muttered as I approached the training room's door and threw it open.

* * *

"**You can't be serious!"** one said. 

"Holy shit!" screamed another.

I even heard someone laugh as he proclaimed, "That is fucking awesome."

Soldiers were crowding around me on the bench press, ogling me while I lifted over 500 pounds with my two arms effortlessly. I remembered my days back in gym class at high school as a freshman, how I'd struggle to lift almost 100 pounds. That was impressive for a girl my size and age . . . not to mention the only sport I'd ever played was softball, and I'd quit that "hobby" a few years prior out of disinterest.

The other girls in class would always walk by me and tell me I was a "beast," or simply ask me how I managed. My gym partner Eileen had even called me a "monster" on more than one occasion. However, I never took offense. I was amazed at myself and took any comparison between some huge, powerful being to me as a complement.

Now, I was treating over a half-ton of weight with the ease of three-pound dumbbells. I pictured the girls from gym class in the Hellsing organization's weight room, some screaming and others fainting at the sight of me. The guys from that class would pale against the soldiers—none of them were as streamlined or toned—but would otherwise blend in with the hoots of disbelief and praise. Eileen would hold her hands to her mouth as she gasped and cheered for me, and the gym teacher would probably just stand there, speechless.

I began to giggle at the thought and placed the bar back in its rightful place above me. Then, I scanned the room at the crowd of guys around me and asked, "Could you guys get me something heavier?"

The soldiers all started talking at once, making my mind go into a frenzy as I tried focusing on one voice. I gave up on that quickly and yelled, "Stop it! Now, either move out of my way or add some more weight to this bar."

"Scarlett, I think that's enough. You don't want to hurt yourself," one of the guys told me.

"Don't be silly," I smiled. "You act like you've never seen a vampire lift weights before."

"We have," another person said, "but Seras isn't here right now."

"I am," I pointed out.

"You're a vampire now? I mean, you actually gave up on humanity?" Someone sounded shocked. I sighed and walked to the rows of weights on the other side of the room.

I added the maximum weight I could to the bar, and that still felt like a toothpick. "Uh, Capt. Bernadotte," I called. "This isn't a challenge."

"Well, we can't fit a sport utility vehicle in here, Scarlett," he replied with a sneer. "Find something else to use."

I gritted my teeth and walked across the room to Capt. Bernadotte. "Captain, there's nothing in here heavier than what I just lifted. What am I supposed to do for the next twenty minutes?"

He matched my aggravation with serenity. "You can be a spotter for the guys."

I rolled my eyes. "That's hardly training, captain! I need to build muscle, grow stronger."

"How much stronger do you plan on becoming?"

I found myself at a loss for words, so I growled and headed for the door.

That didn't seem to please Capt. Bernadotte, for he asked rather bitterly, "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to see how many trucks I can lift in twenty minutes, captain," I replied with a smirk. "See you tomorrow."

I twisted the doorknob, and . . . . _SNAP_! Off came the weight room's door, into my hand while a cool night breeze sifted through the large gap in the wall. I yelled something colorful and threw the door into the corner of the room. Forget the trucks; I needed to go somewhere and relax before this continued.


	17. Sweet Dreams

_A/N: Sorry this took a ridiculously long time to post. I guess you can say I got sidetracked, as I started writing other fanfictions and made a deviantART account. However, I hope this chapter is to your liking. Hopefully, the ending is a bit of a shock. Regardless, happy final reading!

* * *

_

"**You're back early."**

I shut the heavy cement door leading to Alucard's room with a frustrated shove and practically stomped my way into the middle of the floor. I slowly edged my eyes up at his, unsure if I was willing to deal with his sarcasm and biting wit in my current mood. I ultimately decided I wasn't, but it was either deal with him or sulk in my room alone for an hour while I cooled down. Even if I wasn't human anymore, I still found myself sticking to humanity's pack-animal mentality.

"I can't be around the captain right now. Not while I'm so . . . volatile." I grabbed his spare dining chair and sat slightly diagonal from Alucard's so-called throne. I crossed and un-crossed my legs a few times before I accepted there was no way to be comfortable while I was that upset.

"Then I'm afraid you're never going to be able to be around him." His face was annoyingly emotionless as he addressed my situation with serene eyes. How could he be so calm while I was practically freaking out?

"What are you talking about?" My tone was sharp and uninviting . . . typical of me when I get fired up.

"Vampires aren't known for their ability to remain level-headed and coolly assess the problems at hand." He spoke to me as if it were something I should already know, which was probably true. "We are volatile by nature. Impulsive, violent, and highly fascinated—if not intensely amused—by all that is morbid and disturbing by human definition. The constant struggle to contain our volatility is just one of many challenges vampires face on a nightly basis."

"Splendid." When he simply arched an unimpressed eyebrow at me, I added, "So, what do you do to contain yourself?"

His lips stretched into a broad smile, accompanied by a deep, rumbling laugh. He chuckled for quite some time before I realized he was laughing at my question. I sighed. "Right. You don't do anything."

He continued to laugh for a few seconds. Then, he exhaled a deep breath and slunk back in his throne, channeling a model bored by his own beauty. "That isn't entirely true. If I didn't have any self-control, there would be no humans left in London. However, there isn't much I can do to help; this is just something you need to do on your own."

I sagged a bit in my chair. "You can't offer any sort of guidance?"

"You're independent of me now, Scarlett. You must learn to rely on yourself to make the right decisions."

I stuck out my lower lip and scrunched my brow. "You know, any normal teenager wouldn't have this much expected of her."

He remained unaffected by my attempt at a puppy-dog face. "I think we can both agree you're anything but a normal teenager."

I was just about to agree with him when I had the most horrendous realization. I jumped up from the chair and brought my hands to my face, wanting to rip myself to shreds and start over again. "This is horrible!"

Alucard actually seemed a bit worried. He planted one foot on the ground, ready to spring up from his throne and over to me if it was truly something horrendous. "What is it?"

"I'm going to be a teenager for the rest of my life!" I sobbed, kicking at the stone floor beneath me. "I've been damned to an eternity of mood swings and rebellious urges. While the rest of my friends are in their prime, I'm going to be stuck in puberty!"

By the expression on his face, Alucard deemed my response to be rather anticlimactic. He collapsed back into his throne. "Silly me, thinking your outbursts actually had to do with something tragic."

"This _is_ tragic!" I wildly waved my arms about to emphasize my point. "I'm going to be on an unpredictable menstrual cycle until I'm 602 years old."

"I doubt you'll live that long," he said lightly. "Besides, we can't reproduce, so you have nothing to worry about."

That last comment had me stumped. "Really?"

"Of course. New vampires are born through the draining of virgins . . . at least in most cases." He gave me an odd look, obviously referring to my strange, needle-injected conversion. Just when I thought I had him figured out, he cracked a smile. "But don't worry; we can still have sex."

I grimaced. "Yeah . . . definitely wasn't one of my top concerns about being undead, but thanks for the head's up."

"Anytime." He straightened up in his throne and looked over to the bucket of ice sitting on the table. About a dozen blood packets littered the wooden table, deflated and drained. His eyes began to grow drowsy, and I could tell he was ready for his routine nap. "I'm very tired, and you should go back to the training grounds. I'm sure I'll see you when I wake again."

I reluctantly agreed, knowing that I couldn't just sit around Alucard's room all night. I wished him sweet dreams and begrudgingly made my way back to the weight room, not wanting to face Capt. Bernadotte but also having no choice.

* * *

**Surprisingly, training went smoothly after my little temper tantrum**. I was able to challenge myself by taking all of the totaled, nearly obliterated vehicles from Hellsing's sort-of-junkyard and forming them into a sculptural masterpiece. I re-created my own little section of London out of scrap metal—complete with Big Ben, whose clock was actually a monster-truck-like tire—and watched as the other soldiers set it ablaze with rocket launchers. Captain Bernadotte decided that we'd use my metallic London as a backdrop for our target range until it fell—then, I'd get to build it back up again. For once, I found myself genuinely happy to be in the captain's presence.

I also got to try my hand at shooting with the rocket launchers, though I ended up hitting innocent, cardboard pedestrians more than once. Consequently, Capt. Bernadotte decided to work on my aim until I needed to construct again. This wasn't nearly as fun, as he frequently became impatient, but I understood it to be necessary. I just wished he'd pick someone else to yell at once in a while.

This cycle continued for a few more days. Then, Capt. Bernadotte announced before our drills that we should anticipate fighting for real rather soon. Apparently, Sir Integra had a recent Roundtable Conference and was informed by a Millennium messenger that war was on the horizon. Up until I heard that news, it was like I was living in a dream. Now, reality sunk in, and I was terrified.

I knew fully well that vampires aren't immortal, and that while I was stronger than any human, I could still die. Even though I'd been training as hard as I could since I arrived in London, I was still unsure that I'd be able to pull it off during an actual battle. More important, all of friends _were_ human, and it sickened me to imagine a world without them. I wondered if this was how my father felt on a daily basis back home, though I had a feeling he probably worried about my mother, my sister, and me more than anything. For the first time, I was truly homesick—almost to the point where I became ill.

I didn't dare mention my doubts to Alucard, as I knew he would just tell me to accept the risks and move forward. He'd never been one to openly sympathize with anyone, even when he was human some odd centuries ago. Eternally egotistical and ruthless, Alucard prided himself on never backing down from a challenge, especially when it was dangerous. I didn't want to hand him my fears if he was just going to throw them back at me.

So, I feigned confidence whenever the topic was mentioned and made a point to keep all conversations that centered on the impending war short. I was okay at faking it when I wasn't expected to keep it up for long, but I doubted I'd remain convincing if I had to constantly come up with new lies. He didn't call my bluff until the eve of our trip to South America, where we would deal with a small faction of Millennium. After I admitted not being able to sleep the day before, he'd asked me if I was worried about our voyage.

"Of course I'm scared," I replied, desperately trying to draw attention away from my shaking knees. "I went from being an incoming high school freshman to being a private in a top-secret London organization in one day. This is all happening too fast."

"It will always feel that way." We were in my room, and he was seated on my vanity's chair. His back was to the mirrors, and his eyes studied my face with great intent. "I wouldn't worry too much; you're at the right age for the job."

I was unsure thirteen was ever a good age for something so dire, but I didn't want to argue. After all, I looked seventeen, and that did seem to be the perfect age as far as the army was concerned. Still, I just slumped back against the wall with my arms crossed and counted the wrinkles in my sleeves.

I was just about to comment on the awkward silence when the floor shifted beneath me, creating a gaping crater down the middle of my room. The cement floor started chipping along the chasm and molten lava spurted up from the earth's core. I found myself plastered against the wall, too afraid to move. The lava poured out onto the concrete, slowly seeping its way toward me. I heard the mirrors on my vanity shatter and crash to the ground, but Alucard was nowhere to be found. I was beginning to doubt my sanity when he appeared next to me.

Even though I was panicking, he was deathly calm. "Your time here is up."

Up from the crack in the earth came thousands of manga pages. They swirled around my room in a dizzy rage, the wet ink raining down on me and staining my clothes with black. A page landed before my feet, and I watched as the freshly drawn pictures slipped right off. The ink was collecting in puddles around my room, and it took me a moment before I realized all the pages were from the Hellsing manga. They had been redrawn with my face in nearly every frame, and now, it was if the paper was rejecting me.

I held my hands up to cover my mouth only to notice I was vanishing in thin air. My hands were transparent and ghostly, and my throat closed up before I got a chance to scream. I just stood in awe as the very world before me began to crumble. The blaring sound of a siren flooded my ears as the scenery turned to black, but I could've sworn I heard someone whisper "good-bye."

* * *

**I woke to the sound of my alarm clock ringing in my ear**. My surroundings were vaguely familiar, and it took me a minute before I realized I was in my room. The posters were just the way I left them, the 70's wood panels lining the walls in all their faded post-glory and the purple stucco ceiling resting sturdily above me. My ceiling fan creaked as it stirred the hot air around the room, light barely filtering in from behind the closed curtain on my window. The glowing green numbers of my alarm clock, which read 7:30 A.M., was the only true light source in my slumber-ready pit of darkness.

The grating, obnoxious ring of my alarm clock pricked at my skin, so I slammed the snooze button with nearly all my might. I must've fallen asleep again for a few minutes, for when I woke again, my mother was calling my name from the kitchen.

"Scarlett! You're going to be late to school if you don't get up!" I almost yelled back my normal grumpy assent . . . that is until I remembered I hadn't seen my mother in months.

I jumped out of bed and raced down the steps, my feet barely making contact with the linoleum kitchen floor as I ran toward my mother. She was currently making herself a salad, most likely for work later that day. She nearly dropped an entire head of lettuce when I pulled her into a tight embrace.

"You're awful cheerful this morning," she mused, hugging me back. I'd forgotten how comforting and safe a mother's embrace feels. "Maybe you should sleep in a little late from now on."

She didn't seem too upset that I'd been missing for so long. Rather than dwell, I decided she was probably just happy to see me and would rather forget about time I was gone. "I missed you."

She laughed her light, airy laugh that could bring the birds to chirp and flowers to bloom. "It's only been eight hours, Scarlett. Was dreamland really that lonely?"

I pulled away and took a step back. "Did you say eight hours?" I could've sworn I'd been gone for at least six months.

"Yes. You know, it's the average amount of hours for a healthy night's rest." She cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe you actually do need to sleep a little longer."

_I was asleep?_ I was hesitant to accept that idea; everything had felt so real, from the burns, to the kiss, to the taste of blood on my tongue. The tears I'd cried over losing my family, the acute stinging sensation I experienced every time I'd relapsed, and the aching in my stomach as I was surrounded with warm-blooded humans . . . that was all too vivid to be a figment of my imagination. However, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. How else could I have been in an entirely fictitious world, where vampires exist and self-conscious thirteen-year-olds magically turn into gorgeous girls in their older teens?

_I_ was _asleep._ And I regretted waking up, even if it meant I might've died in my dreams. I'd made friends there . . . friends who were only alive in my subconscious . . . .

"Well, don't just stand there, Scarlett." My mom turned back to her sandwich. "I need the bathroom to be cleared out when Grace gets ready for school."

Grace . . . my little sister. At seven years old, she was the most important thing in the world to me. My obligation was to protect her and set a good example for her to follow, both things I could only do while I was awake. I suddenly felt immensely guilty for wanting to go back to sleep.

My mother's voice broke me from contemplating my heavy conscience. "Oh, and don't forget Berke is walking you to school today. You should really go take a shower and get ready if you don't want to keep him waiting."

That caught my attention. "Berke Mitchells, with the British accent?"

She gave me a sideways glance over her shoulder. "How many other Berkes do you know? Honestly, Scarlett, you should get more rest if you can't even remember your own boyfriend."

The final word that rolled off her tongue put a spring in my step, and I found myself rushing back upstairs to get ready for school at lightning speed. Something told me I wouldn't want to go back to sleep for quite some time.


End file.
